The Never Home Girl
by circlesquare
Summary: Cophine AU - 1939 France, leading up to, and through WWII. A young Delphine lives with her family in the quiet village of Rosheim, France. But one day (and one night) she meets a stranger, a mysterious American woman, that will change the course of her life in ways that she still cannot yet imagine.
1. Chapter 1

August 1939

It was a lovely day that day; lovely but hot. The sky was bright blue, and the sun was strong on my shoulders. I hurried down a narrow dirt road, clutching my school books to my chest, sweat gathering in the crooks of my elbows. I hurried past countless rows of grapevines, past old farm houses, and even older fences.

I passed a field of sunflowers, and I barely noticed them at all. I barely noticed their rich, full blossoms, or their towering height, or their subtle scent. I barely noticed how clear the air was; so clear that if you had the wherewithal to look for it, you could make out any ridge of the Vosges Mountains in the distance.

I did not notice the mountains, nor did I notice the grapevines or the sunflowers. I didn't notice any of it, though I admit that it was a lovely country scene. To me it was just that; country. That afternoon, I had the city on my mind; and one city in particular, Strasbourg.

I had made a promise to my brother, Laurent, the night before; me sitting at my desk, him sitting on the edge of the bed behind me, leaning forward on his elbows.

"Bonsoir, Delphine," he had said.

"What do you want?" I had said, leaning over my books.

"The pleasure of your company, of course," he said.

"Company to where?" I said, smiling to myself because I already knew the answer.

"To a certain gentleman's club in Strasbourg, tomorrow evening," he said.

"Go by yourself," I said.

"Oh, come on," he said. "It's more fun when you come along."

"Why?" I said. "Every time I go with you to one of those places, you abandon me for some handsome guy, and I'm left alone at the table, sipping a glass of wine and wishing I was right here, at my desk, with a good book."

"But I need you," he said.

"Why?" I said.

"Because you're the prettiest girl in all of Alsace, and the smartest, too," he said. "All the boys love you."

"Oh, shut up," I said. "The boys you want aren't interested in me... you just need me to translate for your border-jumping Germans."

"So, you'll do it?" he said.

I turned around in my chair and looked into his blue eyes. They were sparkling; radiating a seductive mixture of mischief, curiosity and confidence. It was never easy for me to say no to him, not completely.

"Fine," I said. "But I'm sick of wine. I want a proper cocktail, like a proper lady."

"No problem," he said.

"A martini," I said.

"Sure" he said.

"One of those fancy ones," I said, "with the little cherry at the bottom."

"No sweat!" he said. "I always take care of you, don't I?"

"Fine," I said, and we agreed over a handshake to leave the house the next night at six o'clock on the dot.

_On the dot,_ I thought as I hurried up the dirt road. _On the dot! It's already four! _

Yes, I had the city on my mind as I hurried up the road; a road that wound through the vineyards, past the field of sunflowers and up to my family's old house; a house so old that the entire west side was crumbling from water damage.

_I hope Laurent has a good cover story,_ I thought.

I hadn't had time to think of one, but he was usually reliable about that sort of thing, so I put it out of my mind. Mostly, I wondered what I should wear. Those boys at the bars he went to were always so dandy, I always felt underdressed.

_I'll have to wear my Sunday dress,_ I thought.

But then I second guessed myself, _A church dress? Really? _

But just as the sweat dripped from my temple and into the corner of my eye, I heard a loud bang from overhead. I flinched and looked up.

"What in the world?" I muttered to myself, standing motionless with my hand over my eyes.

It was a plane.

It passed right overhead, the cheerful hum of its propellor interrupted every few seconds by a great sputtering of gray smoke.

"You don't see that everyday," I said to myself.

The plane moved several hundred meters off, then banked to the right, its wings tipping at a severe angle and the whole vehicle shaking violently as it pulled around. It straightened out and I realized then, it was headed straight for the sunflower field, straight for me, and it was approaching fast.

I stumbled backwards, trying to get out of the plane's path, but my feet got caught up and I fell, dropping my books in the dirt, then landing hard on my tailbone. I cried out just as the wheels touched down.

I watched, in horror, as the plane landed roughly in the field, carving out great tracks among the sunflowers, dragging hundreds of them along in its landing gear and propellers as it barreled toward me, and I was sure, this was the end of my short life. Then it came to a complete stop, only a few meters from where I lay, and after one final bang-bang-crack, the propeller died down.

I took a deep breath.

_Oh, thank god,_ I thought. _I'm too young to die._

The pilot jumped up then, waving his hands over his head and shouting something that I couldn't quite understand. He wore a leather cap and enormous goggles that seemed to swallow his face, save for a tiny nose and petite mouth. In fact, as he scurried out of the cabin, stepping one foot on the wing, then leaping down to the ground, I realized that almost everything about him was petite; his chest barely rising higher than the bottom wing.

"I'm so sorry!" he said, running toward me with his gloved hands outstretched. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there!"

I sat on my butt in the middle of the road, leaning back on my hands, and staring up at this bizarre stranger, with his bizarre cap and goggles. I watched as he stumbled through the sunflowers toward me, nearly falling flat on his face. I watched, but I said nothing. There was nothing I could say.

"I'm sorry," he said again, fidgeting with the clasp of his helmet.

"It's okay," I said. "I'm fine, really."

"Are you… eh… are you hurt?" he said, giving up on the helmet and reaching a hand toward me instead.

"Yes," I said, "I mean, no. I'm mean, I'm fine. I'm fine."

He pulled me up, and for one long moment, we stood face to face. Then he began patting at my dress - at my legs and arms - dusting my clothes off in a series of quick, too-familiar gestures. I pushed his hands away.

"Please, stop," I said. "I'm fine."

He pulled his hands away abruptly, his back straight like a soldier's, and if it weren't for the ridiculous goggles hiding half his face, I could have sworn he was blushing.

"I have to go," I said, gathering up my books as quickly as possible.

"Wait!" he said, leaning down to help me. "Wait! Where am I? Where is this? Do you speak English?"

The last question caught my attention, and I looked up.

"Yes," I said, unsure why I hadn't just lied and moved on.

We both stood up.

And then the strangest thing happened.

He reached up with both hands, struggling with clasp at his chin, a frustrated smile on his mouth, and then he pulled the helmet off.

I gasped.

A puff of brown curls bounced out into the sunlight, first springing up and then settling around the pilot's face; around _her_ face, I should say, because _she _was not a _he_ at all.

She pulled the goggles off and smiled. There were two red rings around her eyes where the goggles had been. She squinted at me.

"Wait!" she said, speaking English with an unmistakable American accent. "Can you tell me what village that is over there?"

She turned and pointed down the hill.

"It's called Rosheim," I said.

"Rosheim?" she said. She reached into the front pocket of her dusty leather jacket. "Not Colmar?"

"No," I said. "Colmar is south of here."

"How far south?" she said, pulling a flimsy, well-used map out of her pocket.

"Very south," I said.

She unfolded the map and stared at it, holding it real close to her face and squinting. She bit at her lip in concentration.

"Dang it!" she said, finally. "I must have flown right over it! It's so easy to get lost with all these vineyards."

She turned around a few times, looking first up the road, and then down the road.

"Everything here looks exactly the same!" she said.

"Yes, I suppose so," I said, looking around, as if I, too, were a stranger in my own home town.

When I turned back, she was looking right at me, her hair a tangled mess, and her eyes catching the afternoon sunlight and throwing it back at me; a lovely hazel-brown that matched the sunflowers behind her.

A red handkerchief was tied around her neck. She pulled at it nervously.

"Well," she said as the handkerchief came loose in her hand. "Is there a post office somewhere in that village? A place I can send a telegram, or make a phone call?"

"Uh," I stuttered, distracted by the way she wiped her face, starting at her temple and then sweeping the red cloth down to her ears and behind her neck.

_Did she really just land a plane in Monsieur Lumiere's sunflowers?_ I thought, glancing at the plane. _Did that really just happen?_

"Uh," I stammered again.

She must have misunderstood, or rather, she thought that I had misunderstood, because she began stammering herself, trying to think of a word.

"Ehm...poste?" she said. "Où est... le bureau... de poste?"

"Oh, yes," I said. "Yes, there is a post office."

"Great!" she said, tucking the red scarf into her breast pocket, leaving only the corner tip hanging out; a dot of red against the brown leather.

"But wait," I said. "It's already past four. The post office will be closed, I think."

"Hmm," she said, looking around again, one hand holding the map, and one hand on her hip.

"You could try the Inn," I said. "They might have a telegraph or phone."

"Yeah," she said, biting at her lip. "Yeah, I could try that."

I glanced again at the bit of handkerchief, its red color catching my eye, and at the same moment a welcome breeze kicked up, jostling her wild curls about her face. My eyes trailed over her dirty cheeks, over her jacket, and then, quite naturally, down her entire person. Her trousers were most likely hand tailored. I say so because they were cut in the men's style, but they were cut to fit her petite frame. And her boots looked brand new, the leather glistening in the sun. Her leather helmet and her goggles dangled from her elbow as she regarded the map one more time.

She brushed her hair aside and turned back to me.

"How far is Strasbourg?" she asked.

"Strasbourg?" I said. "Why Strasbourg?"

"Why not?" she said. "It's closer than Colmar, isn't it?"

_She can't go to Strasbourg,_ I thought, _because I'm going to Strasbourg._

"Yes," I said.

"And it probably has a few decent hotels?"

"Yes," I said. "I'm sure it does, but the Inn in town is very nice, as well."

"I'm sure it is," she said. "But I need to get to a place where I can be easily reached, if you know what I mean."

"Right, of course," I said, but actually, I didn't really know what she meant at all.

"Well," I said, somehow reluctant to point her in the direction of the city, "there is a bus that comes by, usually on the hour."

_Just don't get on the six o'clock one,_ I thought.

"On the hour?" she said.

"Yes, if you go into town and wait in front of the bakery."

She bit her lip.

"Yes," she said, "maybe I'll do that, then."

"What about the plane?" I asked.

She turned to look at the plane, shielding her eyes from the sun.

"Well," she said. "I guess I'll have to leave a note."

"A note?" I said.

"Yes," she said. "To whoever's field this is... Wait... Is this your field?"

"Oh, no," I said. "This is Monsieur Lumiere's field. Thank god it's just the sunflowers and not one of the vineyards."

"Yes," she said. "I guess we should be thankful for that, otherwise, I might not have had such a smooth landing."

_You call that a smooth landing?_ I thought.

"But I mean, what's wrong with it?" I said.

"The plane?" she said. "What's wrong with it?"

"Oui," I said.

"Well," she said, turning away from me and pushing her hair behind her ear. "Well, um, I'm not exactly sure."

"It seems like a mechanical problem," I said.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, it would seem that way. But it's not my plane, you see."

"Then whose is it?" I said.

"It's my cousin's," she said.

"Your cousin?" I said.

"Yep," she said, staring out at the plane.

I didn't know what else to say, and she seemed to be thinking so hard about her predicament, that I decided it was best to leave her to it.

"Well, if I were you," I said. "I'd write your note quickly and leave, before Mr. Lumiere comes by."

She looked at me with her head tilted to the side.

"You think he'll be upset?" she said.

"He's not exactly a...welcome wagon," I said, proud of myself for remembering the phrase.

"Right," she said, folding up the map and taking a step away from me. "I'd better get to it, then."

"Yes," I said. "I'd better go, too."

"Oh, by the way," she said. "I'm Cosima."

She reached out her gloved hand, and somehow that made me laugh. Somehow the random nature of the entire scene came crashing down on me at once. I laughed hard, from my belly, and instead of taking her hand, I brought both of my hands to my mouth, embarrassed at my sudden outburst.

She laughed because I laughed.

"I know, I know," she said. "This probably isn't what you expected to see on your walk home today."

"Non," I said. "Non, not at all."

We were both laughing then, until we heard a man shouting just down the road. I took Cosima's hand. I pulled her toward the plane.

"It's Monsieur Lumiere!" I said. "You'd better go!"

She laughed even more.

"It's fine," she said. "I've got to face the music eventually, right?"

"Are you sure?" I said, watching Monsieur Lumiere approach, a straw hat on his head. His face was red with heat, or, more likely, anger. He waved his hands in the air and cursed loudly.

"Yes," she said. "I'm sure. Shouting men don't scare me. Neither do men in hats."

"Alright," I said. "But if you don't mind, I really have to go."

"By all means," she said.

And I was already sidestepping up the road.

"Good luck!" I said as I hurried away.

"Thanks!" she called after me. "Merci beaucoup!"

I walked quickly up the hill, keeping my head down and my face forward. But I couldn't stop myself from smiling.

_Men in hats?_ I thought. _Her cousin's plane? She needs to be easily reachable? _

None of it made sense; all of it was confounding, so confounding, in fact, that I had completely forgotten about Strasbourg and Laurent and my Sunday dress. That is, until I opened the front door of my house. My mother and Laurent were in the middle of a conversation.

"I don't know why you can't go to a closer theatre," my mother said.

"Oh, mother," Laurent said. "It's the biggest film of the year, maybe of the decade. We can't wait a month for it to come to town. We have to see it in the city! It's more epic this way, don't you see?"

"Epic?" my mother muttered. "Why do you need epic? Quiet is better - quiet and cheap. Why do you have to pay for the bus, two ways? And then pay a higher ticket price for the same film? Why can't you be patient? One month is nothing in a lifetime."

"It's alright, mother," I said, stepping into the kitchen. "It was my idea. I've read so much about this new film, it's supposed to be Renoir's masterpiece. You know how I love Renoir films."

"Masterpiece, huh?" she said, looking at me sideways. "What's it called?"

"_The Rules of the Game_," I said. "Doesn't that sound intriguing?"

"I suppose so," she said, her face relaxing.

"And don't worry about money," I said. "I've got some extra saved up from the bakery. I knew you wouldn't let me go alone, so I asked Laurent to escort me into the city."

My mother sighed.

"Alright, alright," she said. "But I don't want my children out at all hours of the night. Make sure he is on that bus home."

"I will," I said, kissing my mother's cheek. "You can trust me."

"I can't believe this," Laurent said, feigning indignance. "You two act like I'm some sort of delinquent. You do remember who is the eldest here, right?"

But when my mother's back was turned he shot me a quick wink.

"You may not be a delinquent," I said, heading for the stairs, "but you're not far from it."

"Just remember!" he shouted after me. "I'm doing you a favor! I might have better things to do than escort you to Strasbourg!"

"Like what?" I shouted back.

"Like...other things!" he shouted, really exaggerating his snotty attitude. "You owe me!"

But when I got upstairs, I closed my bedroom door without answering him. I walked to the window and looked out over the vineyards to Monsieur Lumiere's field. There was the plane, almost golden in the afternoon sun, and there was the long trail of demolished sunflowers behind it. But Monsieur Lumiere was no where to be seen. And more importantly, neither was that mysterious pilot.

"Cosima," I whispered.

_What kind of name is that?_ I wondered.

I walked to my wardrobe, pulled open the doors, and flipped through my very small selection of dresses. I pulled out my Sunday dress. I held it up to my chest and walked to the mirror.

I sighed, and even though I was looking at my own reflection, I kept seeing that strange woman in my mind's eye, with her men's trousers, her leather jacket, her shiny black boots, and that little red handkerchief. I kept seeing her smile, and I could not shake the moment from my mind; the moment when she pulled that dusty leather helmet from her head and her curls bounced about her small face; the moment when she squinted at me, red raccoon rings around her eyes.

_Cosima,_ I thought. _That'sthe kind of name I won't easily forget. _


	2. Chapter 2

As we approached the bar, which was a rustic cottage nestled in the corner of a dead-end lane, I fiddled with the front of my dress, which often got caught up between my sweaty knees.

We climbed the steps to the unmarked front door, but I knew the name of the place, everyone did; Le Petit Chiot, or Le Chiot, for short.

"After you, Mademoiselle," Laurent said.

He pulled open the door in a grand gesture, and as it swung open, a cloud of gray smoke and a wall of sound billowed out - the murmurs, the laughs, the joyful utterances of men; the happy, delicate tapping of piano keys - they billowed out into the otherwise quiet street.

I smiled.

"Thank you," I said with a little curtsy of my own.

Once inside, we made our way through the dense crowd. There were some women but it was mostly men; some dressed in suits, others in casual linen shirts, and still others in full drag with tall wigs on their heads, tall heels on their feet and eyeshadow that reached higher than their eyebrows.

Yes, even in my best dress, I felt underdressed.

Luckily, not many of them paid much attention to me.

"Jolie fille!" they would shout as I passed, but then they would turn back to the one they were with, all flirtatious smiles and sidewards glances.

We made our way to the back of the bar, to our usual table, which was being held by one of Laurent's friends, a Strasbourg native named Jean.

Jean was a short guy, almost a head shorter than me, with dark skin and even darker eyes. He was always well-dressed, usually in a colorful bowtie and suspenders, and he had such a pretty face, he never wanted for attention.

"Hey, you two!" he shouted. "What took you so long? I've been fighting off the fairies all night, trying to save these seats - not to mention Bijou, over here."

He pointed to an old woman, dressed in a red sequined gown, her hair frizzed out about her face like a lion's mane. She was a regular at Le Chiot, and she always sat in the same spot, sipping an oversized glass of cognac, offering advice or making jokes to whoever happened to be in earshot. Usually, that person was me.

"Bonsoir, Madame Bijou," I said with a nod of my head.

She nodded her head in response and sipped at her cognac.

"Alright!" Laurent said. "Drinks? I'm buying!"

I slipped into the bench between the wall and the table.

"You know what I want," I said, leaning forward. "You promised."

"Right!" Laurent said. "A martini! With a cherry at the bottom!"

And he was off, already pushing through the crowd to get to the bar which was made of dark wood, and ornamented with leather panels and a brass foot rest. I couldn't help but laugh at his enthusiasm. He always did remind me of a kid in a candy store whenever we came to Le Chiot, eager to spend his spare change on his favorite treats.

I was less enthusiastic about the place sometimes; it could be downright dreary on some nights, or too lewd on others, depending on the crowd. But the bad nights were the nights when Laurent could not find a suitable object of affection, and the very worst nights were when he was rejected outright. Then he'd join me at the table and sink into a terrible melancholy, refusing to go home, his eyes on the door, still holding out for the perfect stranger to walk in and sweep him off his feet.

But for some reason, I knew this night was not going to be like that. Something was different. I could feel it already. Maybe he'd finally have a bit of luck.

I leaned back and looked around the room.

The pianist, with his long arms and long fingers, had just finished up a cheerful waltz. He turned around at the waist and called to one of his friends, a moustached man in a white shirt, unbuttoned at the front and revealing a mess of chest hair which he was obviously quite proud of. The moustached man set his glass of wine down and leaned, whispering into the ear of a nearby fairy-boy, and in her blond wig and black-feathered hat, she looked more glamorous than I could ever hope to be.

Together they moved toward the piano, the moustached man picking up an accordion and the fairy-boy standing with her hands neatly placed on top of the upright. The pianist counted off a one-two-three and then they all launched into another song.

It must have been a crowd favorite, because soon the entire room was filled with happy drunk bellowing. Couples paired off and began dancing in the center of the room, standing very close to each other, because space was limited.

And what a sight the couples were! Men danced together, and women, too. Men in women's clothes danced with women in men's clothes. Short and tall, thick and thin, old and young; it was a wonderful potpourri of patrons that night, all of them rosy-cheeked, hot and happy.

_Yes, _I thought as I tapped my finger on my sweaty knee.

_Tonight is going to be a good night. _

Laurent returned with my drink, but he didn't linger at the table long. Soon, he and Jean were circulating through the crowd, greeting old acquaintances, or making new ones. As for me, I was content to stay at the table alone, as long as it meant I could sit down. Trying to stand among so many tall, high-heeled dancers was a risky business, unless you were wearing the sturdiest of protective footwear. In my worn out leather sandals, I was much safer on the sidelines.

"Is he your beau?" Madame Bijou said, lighting a cigarette next to me.

"Who?" I said. "Laurent?"

"Either of them," she grunted, her voice raspy.

"Oh, God, no!" I said, somehow embarrassed by the question. "That's my brother!"

"Both of them?" she asked.

"Well, no," I said, "that one's just a friend."

I pointed and she nodded and her sequins sparkled in the smoky light.

"Not your boyfriends?" she said, "but you're here almost every week?"

"Yes," I said, sipping at my martini. "It seems that way."

"You're here for the girls, then?" she said.

She exhaled and looked down, tapping the butt of her cigarette on the edge of an ashtray that sat on her knee.

I was glad she looked away, because I was blushing.

"No," I said, taking another drink.

"Then why do you come?" she asked, looking me in the eyes.

I shrugged my shoulders, smiled awkwardly and took another drink.

She looked away then, exhaling a puff of gray smoke that rose up and out, mixing in with the smoggy cloud gathered at the ceiling. I looked down.

_Why do I come here every week?_ I thought. _I come because Laurent asks me to._

"I come for the atmosphere," she said after a long silence.

"Oui," I said. "Me, too."

But her words echoed in my mind..._You're here for the girls, then?_

"No," I repeated under my breath.

I glanced around the room, taking stock of the few female patrons; some in dresses, others in suits. They were usually paired off; they usually came to Le Chiot in couples, or if they came alone, they paired off quickly, almost without thinking, as if it were the natural thing to do. They were not like the men, who seemed to roam about, always on the prowl for something new and exciting.

Only once, was I offered a drink, which was followed by an invitation to dance.

I remembered the woman very well. I remembered her tweed suit and her slicked back hair. I remembered she was much older than me, crow's feet forming in the corners of her eyes. But she looked kind and gentle, and when I waved my hand, saying that I didn't dance, she smiled politely and returned to the bar.

I remembered feeling especially hot for the rest of that night, my legs sticking to the leather booth beneath me. I remembered avoiding any other unsolicited glances, staring instead at the Cubist paintings that covered the walls. I remembered the butterflies in my stomach, and the way my hands shook for several minutes after she had walked away, and the little twinge of jealousy when I saw her dancing with another; a girl with red hair and skinny legs. I remembered her hands on the girl's back.

I remembered the butterflies.

_For the girls?_ I thought. _No, definitely not. _

"Actually," Madame Bijou said, "that's a lie."

"What?" I said, shocked at her forwardness.

_How did she know?_ I thought. _Am I blushing? Did she see me blush?_

I touched my own face. It was hot.

"I don't come here for the atmosphere alone," she said.

I exhaled in relief.

"I come for the cognac," she said. "I don't know what it is, but it just doesn't taste the same anywhere else."

"Oh," I said, smiling into my glass.

"You should try it," she said. "Once you do, you won't go back."

"Maybe one day," I said.

"One day?" she said. "Darling, life is too short for one day."

"Merci," I said, "but I have my martini."

"Do you know who introduced me to cognac?" she asked.

"Who?" I said.

"My husband," she said.

"Your husband?" I said, surprised.

"Yes," she said. "My first husband."

"Your first one?"

"Yes," she said, "He was an ugly bastard, but he was such a smooth talker."

I laughed.

"He could talk the stripes off a zebra," she said.

"Oh, really?" I said, her description reminding me of Laurent, though Laurent was far from ugly.

I looked up, spotting him by the bar, his arm around Jean's shoulders, a wine glass his hand and a charming smile on his face.

_I know about smooth talkers,_ I thought.

"Yes," she said. "And even though he had no family and no money, he talked my father into marriage."

"Wow," I said.

"And we used to come here together, a long, long time ago," she continued.

I kept my eyes on Laurent, trying to imagine the day that he might get married, the day he might leave, and without him, the day I'd have no reason to come to Le Chiot.

_Will he ever marry a girl?_ I wondered. _Start a family?_

The thought made me laugh, because at the moment he was whispering into the ear of red-haired admirer.

_Not in a million years!_ I thought. _So it will be up to me, then? To carry on the Cormier legacy?_

"We used to come here almost every night," Madame Bijou continued, "and he'd say, 'Bartender, we've just been married! Please give my little Bijou a glass of your best cognac to celebrate!'"

"Every night?" I said.

"Yes," she said. "Almost every night, and he always talked himself out of the tab."

"That's remarkable," I said.

"Oui," Madame Bijou. "But there was one thing...one thing that he couldn't talk himself out of."

"And what was that?" I said.

"The trenches," she said, taking a long sip of her cognac.

When she lowered her glass, she dabbed at her wrinkled lips with a red handkerchief.

"The Great War?" I said.

She nodded her head.

There was a moment of silence while I did the math in my head.

"Anyway," she said. "I've been coming here ever since, to celebrate our short happiness."

"And your next husband?" I said.

"My next husband?"

"Yes," I said. "What happened to him?"

"I made him drink with me, of course" she said, smiling. "He was duller than dishwater, but nice to look at. The cognac made everything he said seem more interesting, if you know what I mean."

I laughed.

"I think so," I said.

I looked down and realized that my glass was empty. I gasped.

Madame Bijou also noticed. She smiled a wrinkled smile that seemed to have endless layers of happiness, sadness and wisdom all at once.

"Life is short," she said. "Drink cognac."

"But I've nothing to celebrate," I said.

"You're young!" she said. "That's enough!"

"Okay," I said. "But let my brother pay."

"Non, non," she said. "I'll put it on my tab."

She lifted her glass in the air and raised a shaky hand to her mouth.

"Bartender!" she shouted.

The bartender looked up immediately, eyebrows raised, ignoring the patrons.

"Two of your best cognac," she shouted, her voice cracking. "We need to celebrate!"

The drinks arrived only minutes later, and we raised our glasses.

"To young love!" Madame Bijou said.

"To young love," I said, too, but I felt a little silly, having never been in love before.

I watched her drink first. She raised the glass before her face, watching the caramel colored liquor swish about. Then she brought it to her nose, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, a slight smirk on her lips. I wondered if she was thinking of him. Then she opened her eyes and took a delicate sip.

I followed her lead, swishing the cognac about, then sniffing to get an idea of the flavors. I sat up straight, then, surprised because I could have sworn I smelled...sunflowers.

"What is it?" Madame Bijou asked me.

"Nothing," I said, raising the glass to my nose one more time. "It's nothing."

I sniffed again, and this time, though not quite as strong, I was sure the aroma was there; the subtle scent of sunflowers.

_I've never heard of such a thing,_ I thought.

But Madame Bijou was watching me in expectation, so I shook off the uncanny feeling and brought the glass to my lips. I looked up over the edge of the glass as I tilted it back, catching Laurent's eye for a moment. He winked at me, bringing a cigarette to his smiling lips.

And then, just as the brandy touched my lips, the door of Le Petite Chiot swung open, letting in a gust of fresh air and a glint of the evening's remaining sunlight.

Everyone turned toward the door, including Laurent; everyone curious to see who would walk in next.

I looked, too, my mouth still on the edge of the glass, the strong flavor of brandy washing over my tongue.

And, honest to God, I couldn't tell you what that brandy tasted like. I couldn't tell you because, there, standing just inside the front door, was the pilot from Monsieur Lumiere's field.

_Cosima,_ I thought.

I coughed, nearly spitting out the cognac. All eyes turned toward me as I coughed several more times, tears gathering in the corners of my eyes.I turned away.

"What's wrong?" Madame Bijou said, patting my back gently.

"Nothing," I wheezed, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "Nothing."

Yes, all eyes had turned toward me, and when I turned to face the room, she was looking in my direction.

My heart pounded in my ears.

She was completely transformed, and I was completely shocked.

Her hair was pulled into a bun at the back of her neck; and her eyes were lined in thick, black eyeliner; and a pair of delicate black spectacles sat on her nose; and she was no longer in pilot's clothes. No, she was in a red silk dress, in the Shanghai style, the collar high around her neck, and the length reaching to mid-calf. And the most surprising thing of all, she wore not ordinary shoes or heels on her feet, but her shiny, black leather boots; an unusual combination which seemed to add to the appeal of her entire ensemble, not detract from it.

I should have turned away again, or hidden my face, but I could not move.

And then, just like that, our eyes met.

For a moment, I thought she didn't recognize me, her face as blank as if she were staring at the wall.

But then her eyebrows popped up in surprise and a smile spread across her face.

_Oh, god!_ I thought. _She saw me!_

She leaned back, saying something to the man who had entered with her; a tall lanky man with equally thick eyeliner. She said something to him, and then they were both walking in my direction.

I held my glass with both hands, leaning back, pressing myself against the wall, suddenly embarrassed and suddenly drunk.

_Oh, god!_ I thought. _Here she comes!_ _Oh, god! _


	3. Chapter 3

_What should I say?_ I thought as she approached. _What if I can't speak? What if I just sit here like a bump on a log? Oh, god, my heart!_

But she smiled so big, and she looked so genuinely happy to see me, that it was hard to stay scared for long.

No, within a moment, I was smiling with her, leaning forward, anticipating her arrival, my mouth suddenly loaded with so many questions; questions that tasted like sunflowers and citrus. If only I could remember how to say them in English.

"A friend of yours?" Madame Bijou said, lighting up another cigarette.

"Yes," I said. "Sort of."

Laurent's eyes were also on me, his eyebrows raised in curiosity, as if to ask, 'And what do we have here?'

I just shrugged my shoulders and smiled. Even if he had been close enough to hear me, what could I say?

_Oh, this is the woman that almost flattened me beneath her plane._

I realized that I hadn't told Laurent, or anyone, the story of the mysterious pilot yet.

But then, she arrived, placing one hand delicately on the edge of the table, and reaching her other hand straight out to shake mine. It was an odd mixture of feminine and masculine gestures, and it made me stare.

"Hello, again!" Cosima said. "What a pleasant surprise! Do you remember me? The pilot?"

"Of course," I said, taking her hand. "How can I forget?"

"I admit that I must have made quite an impression!" she said.

The man behind her gave me a once over and a slight roll of his eyes, just like he had seen my kind before and knew all about me. I didn't really like that, because I wasn't even sure what my kind was.

"This is my friend, Felix," she said, presenting him to me with both hands.

"Enchanté," I said. "I'm Delphine."

"Enchantée," Felix said with a nod of his head.

"Delphine," Cosima repeated my name, her lips soft as she formed the words.

She was still for a moment, her head tilted to the side as she smiled at me.

I couldn't believe she was the same woman from the field. There was not a spec of dust on her face. Her skin was smooth and clear. Her hair, which had been a mess of untamed chestnuts curls, was now neatly pulled back. And her eyes, which had once held the many shades of a field of sunflowers now seemed a dark brown; perhaps darkened by the thick eyeliner, or perhaps, by the smoky light of the room.

She shook her head then, as if shaking off a distant thought and she turned to Felix, who was already glancing hungrily around the room.

"This is the girl I was telling you about from the field! Isn't that mad?! Isn't that a statistical improbability?!" Cosima said, beaming.

_She was telling him about me?_ I thought. _And what did she say?_

"Well, you know what they say," Felix started, "it's a small fairy world."

_Fairy?_ I thought. _Who is he calling a fairy?_

"Are you here alone?" Cosima asked, glancing around.

"No," I said. "I'm with my brother. He's over there, with his arm around the redhead."

Felix saw him right away and smirked.

"Guess it runs in the family," he said.

I wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, either, but his smirk was more gentle this time, so I decided to let it pass.

"So," I started to say, but then, my mind blanked.

"So," Cosima said, leaning toward the table.

Felix watched Cosima with his tongue in his cheek, then he looked at me.

"How about I go get us some drinks?" he said. "Looks like it's going to take some time. Plus, I'd like to get better acquainted with the locals."

"Yeah," Cosima said, leaning onto one hip and looking up at him. "Yeah, you go. I think I'm gonna stay here."

"Alright, well, what do you want, then?" Felix said.

"Um, anything, anything," Cosima said, waving a hand in the air.

Felix made a swooping turn, fixing his hair in the process, and then he set off toward the bar, a flirtatious smile already on his lips.

When Cosima turned back to me, I smiled, because actually, I didn't know what to say. She smiled, too, a giggle bubbling up in her throat.

"Um," she started to say, "Do you mind if I join you?"

"Non," I said. "Please, sit down."

Cosima sat herself in the chair on the opposite side of the table, and immediately her eyes wandered to Madame Bijou's face.

"Bonsoir," Cosima said.

Madame Bijou nodded her head and took a sip of cognac.

"American?" she asked, and I could swear there was a little twinkle in her eye.

"Oui," Cosima said.

"Ah, wonderful!" Madame Bijou said. "I love Americans!"

Cosima looked at me and laughed.

"Merci?" she said like she was unsure if it was something to be thankful for.

"And, tell me, American, do you drink cognac?" Madame Bijou said. "We were just making a toast to young love."

Cosima looked at me with a panicked expression on her face.

I thought for a moment, then I translated as best I could.

"She wants to know if you drink cognac," I said. "We were just making a toast."

"Oh!" Cosima said, turning to look Madame Bijou in the eyes. "Yes! Oui!"

"Bartender!" Madame Bijou called out. "One more glass!"

Again, the bartender stopped everything, pouring the brandy and sending the glass to our table with a shirtless young man.

Felix watched in envy as the young man passed, though whether it was envy over the speedy service or over the shirtlessness of the man, I may never know.

"Merci!" Cosima said, taking the glass up in her small hand. "And what are we drinking to?"

"Young love!" Madame Bijou said.

"What?" Cosima said, looking to me for clarification.

"Ehm…," I stuttered, feeling shy. "She said, 'to love!' Ehm… 'to young love!'"

"Oh," Cosima said, raising her glass, her eyes locked on mine. "I can drink to that."

I looked away as I took a sip of the brandy, but I could feel her eyes on me; on my face. And when I set my glass down, I still could not meet her gaze.

I looked at Laurent. From where I sat, I saw a bead of sweat drip from the hairline above his temple. His face was red, and I could tell by the almost too-happy smile on his lips that he was already feeling intoxicated.

I looked at Felix, who had finally made it to the bar. He was leaning over it elegantly and chatting with the older gentleman next to him. I watched him trace a finger along the back of the gentleman's hand.

_Wow!_ I thought. _He's fast._

And then I looked at Madame Bijou, who was also watching the crowd, a thin cigarette between her fingers, the ash growing long and dropping into the ashtray on her knee. She smiled lazily, swaying back and forth to the music, even bouncing her shoulders every now and then during the percussive parts.

Then, with no one else to look at, and still unable to look at Cosima, I scanned the crowd of dancers, swaying myself to the music. I had no choice but to notice the details of the dancers; their sweaty foreheads, backs and armpits. And one man in particular, a man in a purple silk shirt, was dancing so energetically that his black hair - what little he had - was completely soaked through.

_Well, at least he's having fun,_ I thought.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cosima turn, too, to watch the dancers. I stole a glance at her then.

I glanced once, very quickly, because I thought she might turn around.

I glanced again, this time letting my eyes linger. I noticed her ear first, no ornaments or decorations on it. Then I noticed her neck, noticed the way the Shanghai collar pushed very gently into her skin. Then, just as if she had known I was watching, she reached for her collar, slipping two fingers between it and her skin, and pulling it gently away, tilting her head to the side. Then she let her hand fall back down, leaning her elbow back onto the table. That was when I noticed her arm, which was lean but strong. I saw the muscles there flex, ever so slightly, as she tapped her finger to the beat of the song. I wished to see more of her, but my view was obstructed by the table, which cut her at the waist.

The song finished, and in that half-second before the band started up the next one, she turned around, quite unexpectedly, and our eyes met.

I had been staring, and I was sure she knew it, right away.

"This place is nice," she said. "Better than I expected."

"Yes," I said. "I come here often, I mean...we come here, my brother and I."

"I can see why," she said. "Great atmosphere. Great music. Great cognac."

She raised her glass, and when Madame Bijou saw that, she raised her glass, laughing in sudden bursts that filled the room. I could not help but raise my glass, too.

"What should we toast to?" Cosima said.

"Statistical improbabilities," I said.

"Yes, I like it," Cosima said, smiling.

This time Madame Bijou was confused, but after I explained, she squinted her eyes and pulled her mouth into a tight-lipped smile, the way that older people do when they know something that you don't.

We all drank, and when the glasses were down, the table was quiet again.

"This is such a lovely song," Madame Bijou said. "Why don't you two dance?"

My stomach climbed into my mouth as she said it, and for a moment I was relieved that Cosima didn't understand French. But that moment didn't last long, because when I looked up, her eyebrows were raised, as if she were asking, 'Well, why not?'

"Did you understand her?" I asked, trying to keep a straight face, and simultaneously trying to think of the lie I would translate.

"I understood enough," she said, leaning forward, resting her chin on her hand.

"Oh," I said.

She kept looking at me. I bit my lip.

"I'm not a good dancer," I said.

"Me neither," she said. "But neither is that guy, and no one has stopped him."

She pointed over her shoulder at the man in the purple silk shirt. I glanced at him, at his sweaty red face and balding head which glistened in the lamplight. He was a mess, but he looked happy, and miraculously, the woman dancing with him looked happy, too.

I remembered the only other woman who had ever asked me to dance, and I remembered the jealousy I had felt to see her dance with another. I knew right away that if I saw Cosima dance with anyone else, the jealousy would be worse, much worse - unbearable.

_I'll be damned to let her dance with anyone else!_ I thought.

I picked up the glass of cognac and took a long drink, though I knew full well that it was meant to consumed in such a reckless manner.

"Okay," I said. "Let's do it."

"Okay!" she said, pushing back her chair.

Madame Bijou was right, the song was lovely. It wasn't too fast or too slow. And when we stood facing each other at the edge of the dance floor, I was only scared for a moment.

But then, Cosima reached for my hand, locking it with hers, and she smiled up at me. I laughed nervously as she stepped closer, placing her hand delicately on my back. I placed my hand on her shoulder, and it all happened so easily, so naturally, that in a moment we were dancing, and I wasn't scared at all.

There wasn't much room to move about, but we managed to sway and turn in our own little space. Plus, avoiding the other dancers gave us something to do and to laugh about.

And we laughed, a lot. We laughed until the song tempo changed to something a little slower. We stood still for a moment, and I half-expected Cosima's hands to fall away, but they did not. No, if anything, she squeezed me a little tighter, as if she, too, were afraid I might let go.

_Don't worry,_ I thought. _I'm not going anywhere._

And when the next song started up, we turned in slow circles. The other couples pulled into tight embraces, freeing up space on the dance floor.

I finally felt the air circulate around us and between us. I took a deep breath and looked down at Cosima.

"So," I said. "I'm guessing that you handled Monsieur Lumiere well?"

"Oh, him?" she said. "He's a big softy."

"A softy?" I said, surprised. "He's the town grouch."

"Really?" she said. "I thought he was quite charming."

"Charming?" I said.

"Oh, yes," she said. "And a generally agreeable sort of fellow."

"You're joking," I said.

"No," she said. "I offered to pay for the damage to his field, and he agreed right away."

"I'm sure he did," I said.

"He also agreed to accept a small rent on the field, just for a few days, while I do repairs," she said, obviously proud of her arrangement.

"Rent?" I said.

"Yes," she said.

"Well," I said, "It sounds like you're the charming one. Monsieur Lumiere is a grumpy old miser."

She only smiled at that.

"A few days, huh?" I said. "Do you know what's wrong with the plane?"

"Not yet," she said. "That's what Felix is for."

"Felix is a mechanic?" I said.

"Yes," she said, looking at Felix who was still leaning over the bar. "A bit hard to believe, I know, but he is an excellent mechanic. Plus, it's his plane. If anyone can fix it, it should be him, right?"

"So, he's the cousin?" I said. "But he's British."

"It's a long story," she said.

"Oh," I said.

"Anyway, he nearly flipped a wig when I got him on the line in the hotel. But by the time he flew up here he cooled off a little. And once we found out about this place…"

"Wait," I said. "He flew up here."

"Yes," she said. "How else could he get here so fast?"

"How many planes does he have?" I asked.

"Well, technically, one," she said. "The one in the sunflower field. The other one is his father's."

"Wow," I said. "A family of aviationists."

"Sort of," she said. "Though I'm just a beginner, as you might have guessed by my landing today."

"Beginner?" I said. "How long have you been flying?"

"Three days," she said.

"Non!" I said, a little too loudly. "Non! Now you must be joking!"

I was yelling, but she didn't seem to mind.

"I'm dead serious," she said. "Three days, honest."

"You're insane!" I said, looking at her out of the corner of my eye, unsure whether she was teasing me or not.

"Yes," she said. "Maybe."

The song changed then, and I realized how close we were dancing; so close that her arm was almost completely wrapped around my back, and our forearms and wrists were pressed together, creating a sweaty friction, and when I looked down, our chests were nearly touching.

"But it's basic aerodynamics," she said, suddenly pushing me away, but holding tight to my palm.

She spun me around and pulled me back.

"Even when the engine cuts out, the plane will simply lose altitude," she said, twirling me around again, in the opposite direction.

"...gliding all the way down to the ground until you land safely. It's not so dangerous really," she said.

She slipped her arm back around my waist, and then we were both bopping to the happy beat.

"You make it sound so easy," I said. "But you've forgotten one thing."

"What's that?" she said.

"I've seen you fly," I said.

"And?" she said.

"And you almost killed me," I said.

"Well," she said. "The rules of basic aerodynamics don't account for beautiful French girls throwing themselves beneath your landing gear."

"Throwing myself!?" I said. "I was just walking home, minding my own business, when you nearly glided your plane right over my head!"

_Wait,_ I thought, my mind slow from the alcohol. _Did she just say I was beautiful?_

I was about to ask her, but we were interrupted.

"Sorry to interrupt," Laurent said, placing his hand on my shoulder. "But it's time to go."

In a quick series of motions, Cosima's hand dropped from my waist, and my hand fell from her shoulder, and we both turned toward Laurent.

"What?" I said. "What time is it?"

"It's nearly ten o'clock," he said. "We must leave soon, if we want to catch the last bus."

I sighed, bringing my hand to my forehead in disbelief. But then I looked at Cosima, and she smiled. She reached for my hand and squeezed it.

"Hello," Laurent said. "I'm Laurent."

And that was the extent of his English.

"Hello," Cosima said. "I'm Cosima."

And they shook hands, and I looked back and forth between them, hating that I had to leave.

"Do you know each other?" Laurent asked me in French.

"Sort of," I said. "Ehm, can you give us a minute?"

"Sure," he said. "I'll be waiting outside."

He smiled at Cosima one more time and nodded his head, a cocky smile on his lips. "Au revoir, Cosima."

"Au revoir, Laurent," she said with a slight wave of her hand and a bounce on her toes.

She was still holding my hand.

"Look," I said, "I'm sorry, but I have to go."

"It's fine," Cosima said, her head tilted to the side. "Anyway, Monsieur Lumiere said I could come over anytime, so I guess I'll be seeing you again...very soon."

I bit my lip.

"Okay," I said.

"Okay," she said.

But neither of us moved. I felt her thumb rub against the back of my hand and it sent shivers through my body. Maybe she saw.

"Thanks for the dance," she said.

"I should go," I said.

I leaned in then, swallowing hard before I touched her cheek with mine. Then I leaned back and moved to the other cheek. Our eyes met for a moment in passing, and it was like lightning had struck right through my stomach. I kissed her other cheek and then, pausing for a very short moment, reeling at the sensation, at the way it made me feel, all lit up like fireworks on Bastille Day.

Then I walked away.

I headed straight for the door without looking back.

I was embarrassed, you see. My entire body was on fire, and my head was spinning, and I'm not sure if it was the temperature of the room, or the cognac and vodka mixing my stomach, or the lingered sensation of her lips on my cheek, but I felt suddenly nauseous. The last thing I needed was to throw up right then and there.

So I hurried toward the door, pushing it open as quickly as I could, stepping out into the night air, more than a little out of breath.

"Are you alright?" Laurent said.

"Yes," I said. "I'm fine. Just a little drunk."

"See," he said. "You should have stuck to wine."

But he helped me to the bus stop anyway, and the whole bus ride home, he let me rest my head on his shoulder, and if he had questions about the woman I was dancing with, he kept them to himself, and I was thankful for that, because I wouldn't even know how to start talking about her, or about what had just happened.

What could I have said at that moment? What did I really know about her anyway?

_She's a pilot_, I thought. _Except she's not really a pilot. And her eyes contain all the colors of a field of sunflowers, but sometimes they don't. And she is renting Lumiere's field. And her cousin is British and a mechanic. And her cheek is as soft as a flower petal. And she said... she said that I was beautiful. _


	4. Chapter 4

I woke up early the next morning, when the sky was still a dark blue and the birds hadn't even started their songs yet. I say wake up, as if I had actually been sleeping, but I hadn't really slept at all. Instead, I had tossed and turned, my forehead hot and my limbs sweaty with fever; tossed and turned until the sheets were balled up at my feet and my nightshirt had risen up to my armpits.

Sometimes I'd drift into dreams, but they were shallow and filled with the sounds of pulsing accordion tunes. I kept hearing Madame Bijou's voice, laughing in great gusts, and I kept feeling Cosima's lips on my cheek; so, so, soft and tingling like electricity.

Then I'd wake, a sweat stain on my pillow and one eye half-open. I'd wake, raise my head and roll over onto my back, sometimes touching my own cheek, sometimes touching my own breast, sometimes biting the back of my own hand before drifting back into the shallowness. I willed the images to reappear. I willed my subconscious to relive that dance and that kiss, over and over.

It went like that until morning. Then I stood up, my body so sore from the night's exertion that I couldn't possible lay still any longer.

I walked to the window and looked out.

Monsieur Lumiere's sunflower field was a dim blue, and overhead, a few stars still twinkled. I felt for a moment, that they, too, couldn't sleep; that they, too, were waiting eagerly for the return of the pilot, or, at the very least, for the return of the sun. I felt them wink at me, as if to say, 'Patience is a virtue.'

I pulled open the window and took a deep breath. The air was cool against my sweaty forehead.

_I wonder when she'll come,_ I thought. _And I wonder how long she'll stay. Hours? Days? Oh, please, let it be days!_

Just then, I heard the muffled sounds of my father's footsteps downstairs in the kitchen. Yes, of course he was awake, already preparing for a long day in the vineyards.

I changed my clothes and went downstairs.

"Bonjour, papa," I said as I rubbed at my eyes.

"Bonjour, Delphine!" he said from his place at the stove. "What a surprise this is!"

"Can't sleep," I said.

"Good! Then we can put you to work this morning!" he said.

"Okay," I said, trying not to sound too interested. "Are you out in the vineyards today?"

"Yes, I should think so...in the morning that is. But by noon I should walk down to Lumiere's."

"Lumiere's?" I said, my eyes suddenly wide open.

"Yes," my father said, pouring himself some coffee. "He wants to test the grapes. I said it's too early, they aren't ready yet, but he says he wants to check anyway. So now I have to haul off a batch for him. I told him it's a waste of good grapes, but you know how he is. Never listens to no one."

"Well, I can help you carry them."

"That's very kind of you, Delphine," he said. "But I was just joking earlier. You know I have Laurent and Ethan for that sort of thing."

"Ethan is coming today?" I said.

"Of course," he said. "He comes every Saturday."

"Right," I said.

I did the mental arithmetic in my head, weighing the pros and cons. On the one hand, I looked forward to any excuse to be outside, just in case Cosima and Felix arrived. On the other hand, it was a general rule of mine to be anywhere that Ethan was not. He was a nice guy, harmless really, but he was always staring and I didn't like it.

Once, out behind the barn, he had tried to invite me to the cinema, his hat in his hands and his head down. I'd made an excuse. I'd said I was studying or working or helping mother with something.

"Oh, right, of course," he'd said putting his hat back on.

"Maybe another time," I'd said, but I hadn't really meant it.

He hadn't known that though, because just after the words had come out of my mouth, he'd looked up at me with big, puppy dog eyes and a dopey grin.

"Another time, then," he'd said.

Ever since then, I'd been avoiding him, avoiding that inevitable 'another time.'

"Maybe I will just clean up the house before Mother wakes up," I said.

"Aren't you a sweet girl?" my father said, leaning over to kiss the top of my head. "I'm sure she will really appreciate that."

And then he was out the door, a lunchbox in one hand and a thermos in the other. I walked to the sink, poured myself a glass of water and sighed. I glanced out the window, disappointed to see that the sky had not changed color at all, disappointed to see those few stars still clinging to the horizon.

"Patience," they winked at me.

At that moment, standing in the kitchen, being only a teenager with a teenager's sense of time, it felt like I had to wait a lifetime, an eternity even, before Cosima might arrive.

But in truth, it was only a few hours, _could have only been_ a few hours, before the sun was nearly straight over head and the house was as tidy as it could be. All the clothes and bedsheets were washed, and the dishes washed, too.

"I don't know what's gotten into you!" my mother said. "I should let you go to the cinema more often!"

I blushed at the thought. I blushed because when my mother mentioned the lie, my mind did a strange retelling, placing me in the dark, looking up at a brightly lit screen, with Cosima sitting next to me, her face lit up as well, and both of our arms sharing the same armrest.

I shivered.

"It's nothing," I said, setting the dish rag on the counter by the sink.

That's when I heard it, the distant rumble-rumble-pop of a motorcar engine. I leaned way over the sink, trying to get a better look down the road, but all I saw was Laurent's back as he leaned over a grapevine. He stood up, looking down the road. Then he smiled. He smiled so big, I could see it from the kitchen window. He turned around and shouted toward the house, his hands cupped around his mouth.

"Delphine! Delphine! Can you come out here?!"

I ran to the door.

"What is he shouting about?" my mother called after me.

"He needs some help!" I said, slipping on my sandals at the door.

"Where's Ethan?" my mother said.

"I don't know," I said. "Gotta go!"

I got outside just in time to see them approach, not in a motorcar as I had previously thought, but on a motorcycle with a sidecar. As they came up over the hill, the motorcycle's engine rumbled so noisily, and the sidecar kicked up so much dust, it created an unusual spectacle for our small neighborhood.

My mother pushed open the front door. My brother hopped over the vineyard fence. My father and Ethan both came out of the barn. We all stood by and watched, and who could blame us?

The two riders were a sight to behold, both wearing leather jackets and leather helmets and goggles. Felix drove the motorcycle; I could tell it was him by his long face, and by the white scarf that billowed behind him. Cosima sat in the sidecar, her knees tucked up close to her chest, and a huge smile on her petite face.

She waved, and without thinking, I waved back.

Felix pulled the motorcycle right up close to me, and then he cut the engine.

"Excuse me, mademoiselle," he said in English. "Have you, by any chance, noticed any wrecked aeroplane's in the vicinity?"

I laughed.

"Or," Cosima added from her seat in the side car. "Would you be able to point us in the direction of the Lumiere residence? I hear Monsieur Lumiere is a very agreeable fellow, and we have some business to attend to."

"It's just that way," I said, pointing up the road. "I'm sure he's expecting you."

"Thank you," Felix said. "You're a lamb, a true lamb."

And just like that, he turned the ignition and the engine whirred.

"I'll see you soon!" Cosima shouted over the noise.

She waved again. And once more, I could not helping waving back.

They sped off down the road toward Lumiere's, nearly clipping Laurent where he stood by the fence. Laurent jumped out of the way, waving his hands in front of his face, trying to avoid the cloud of dust that had been kicked up around him.

"Who are they?" my mother said.

"Ehm…" I said.

"Do you know them?" she asked.

"Not really," I said. "I think they crashed a plane in Lumiere's field."

"You think?"

"Yeah."

"Well, you think or you know," my mother said. "They either crashed a plane or they didn't."

"They did...I mean, she did."

"She?" my mother said, sounding more confused by the moment. "That was a woman?"

"Yes, well, one of them, yes," I said, tired of my mother's questions. "I'm going to make lemonade."

"Lemonade?"

My mother followed me back into the kitchen. She was loaded with questions, all of which I tried my best to answer truthfully, if not reluctantly. Regardless, she helped me with the lemonade - she was better at making it - and then she filled two wine decanters, slipping them into a basket with four fresh glasses.

"Do you think four glasses is enough?" she asked. "No, no, it's definitely not. Let's see...there are the two pilots, the Lumieres, perhaps your father, Laurent, Ethan, and us…"

"Us?"

"Well, yes," she said. "I'm coming with you! It's not everyday you get to meet a real life aviationist! And a lady aviationist at that!"

"No, it's certainly not!" I said, and I couldn't hide the excitement in my own voice.

I knew why she was excited. She was excited because she was going to get the first scoop on the gossip. She was excited because that evening she was going to walk the main road in Rosheim with her head held high, stopping anyone she happened to pass, and saying, 'Did you hear about the lady pilot who crashed a plane in Lumiere's field?!'

I just hoped that she thought we were excited for the same reasons.

"Anyway, that makes nine! Oh my goodness, nine glasses!" she said. "I'm not even sure we've made enough lemonade!"

I stood at the door with the basket already hanging at the crook of my elbow. I rolled my eyes at her hesitation.

"Let's go, Mama! Let's go!"

"Alright, alright! I just don't want to embarrass myself."

We found them out in the sunflower field.

Mother was right; all of them were there, gathered around the plane. Felix pulled a flower from the propeller and tossed it to the ground. Then he moved to the tires and gave them a good look. Meanwhile, Cosima stood with her goggles and her helmet in her hands as she charmed the Lumieres with her hand gestures.

I could not hear what she was saying, but I got the impression they were struggling to communicate. Her smile often stretched to one side in a sort of wince, and she pulled nervously at the red handkerchief around her neck.

When she saw me, her shoulders relaxed and her lopsided smile shifted into a thankful grin. She waved.

"Bonjour!" my mother called. "We brought lemonade for your guests!"

"Bonjour," Monsieur Lumiere grunted.

"Delphine!" Cosima said, taking a step toward me. "Thank god, you're here!"

"Hello, Cosima," I said. "What's the problem?"

"Oh, well, it's simple you see," she started, wringing her helmet in her hands as she spoke. "I was just trying to explain to Monsieur Lumiere, here, that I was not able to obtain the funds to reimburse him, because the banks are closed today, but that I will pay him in full on Monday."

"On Monday?" I said.

"Yes," she said.

Behind me, my mother was pouring out glasses of lemonade, and her constant murmuring was making it difficult for me to think. Directly in front of me, Monsieur Lumiere stood with his arms crossed, staring me down over his long nose.

"Well?" he said. "Where's my money?"

Cosima looked back and forth between us. A nervous giggle escaped her lips.

"In the bank," I said. "And why shouldn't it be? It's Saturday."

Madame Lumiere rubbed at her husband's arm.

"That makes sense," she said. "That makes perfect sense, dear."

But Monsieur Lumiere merely squinted at me.

"When will I have it in my hand?" he said.

"Monday," I said.

My mouth went dry as he glanced sideways at Cosima, not moving his head at all.

"Lemonade?" my mother asked Madame Lumiere.

"Oh, yes, please! It's so hot out here!" she said.

Monsieur Lumiere waved my mother off, refusing the drink, and the longer he stood there, saying nothing, the more sweat gathered on my brow. Personally, I wanted to gulp down an entire glass, but I thought it best to wait.

Cosima must have been nervous, too, because wiped at her neck compulsively with the handkerchief.

Slowly, Monsieur Lumiere turned around, taking a good long look at Felix who was making his way around the plane, running his elegant fingers along the canvas body.

"He's the mechanic?" Lumiere asked.

"Yes," I said. "And a very good one."

Lumiere twisted his mouth like he didn't believe me.

But then he sighed through his nose, and I felt the gust of air on my face.

"Alright," he said. "I will accept the payment on Monday. But if the plane isn't gone by then…"

"It will be gone, I swear!" Cosima said, crossing her heart with her finger.

Lumiere tilted his head toward her, and I knew he understood. He walked off then, without the lemonade. As he passed my father, he barked something about bringing the grapes around, and my father nodded his head like he understood, but made no move toward our house.

Madame Lumiere hung back a while. She and my mother stood a few meters off and chatted back and forth together, often glancing at Cosima and me.

The men - Laurent, my father, and Ethan - they were already moving toward the plane. They got close enough to get a good look at it, but they didn't touch.

"Bonjour boys," Felix said. "How do you like my toy?"

Laurent was quick to step up and ask questions about the plane. My father, he was more interested in offering solutions. And Ethan, he kind of just stood around and stared, like he always did.

"You came just in the nick of time," Cosima said, unzipping her jacket.

"Hmm?"

"I mean, you have perfect timing," she said. "Things were looking a little iffy there…for a minute."

"Monsieur Lumiere isn't as agreeable as you once thought?" I said.

She smiled, shading her eyes from the sun with her hand. "Guess not. And you're tougher than I once thought."

"He's a bully," I said. "The best way to deal with bullies is to talk straight."

"I see," she said, half of her face in shadow.

She tilted her head back to get a better look at my face, but I was squinting from the sun. We both laughed.

"You girls want some lemonade?" my mother called.

"Yes! Please!" Cosima said, nearly running to my mother's side.

We stood, facing each other, glancing at each other over the tops of our glasses. I took long gulps, because I was thirsty and nervous, and I didn't know what to say anyway. Maybe she felt the same, because she drank in long gulps, too, and she ended with a long 'Ahh!' just like people on those radio advertisements.

I watched my mother watch Cosima drink, and I could just see the questions boiling at the back of her throat.

"So," she said. "What's your…?"

But I cut her off.

"Her name is Cosima. She is American. That's her cousin, Felix. It's his plane. He's going to fix it," I said, rambling off the facts as fast as I could.

"Oh," my mother said.

I handed her my empty glass and Cosima's empty glass. Then, tugging at Cosima's sleeve, I excused us.

"Wha..?" my mother stammered. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to give her a tour of the vineyards," I said. "We'll be back soon."

We scurried up the road, the one that led to our old house, but we didn't stop at the house. We kept walking, following the road as it curved around, as it passed Lumiere's house, and then dipped down between two grapevine-covered hills.

"These are the vineyards," I said.

"I see that," she said.

But I had no intention of showing her the vineyards, because it was too hot to stand in the middle of endless rows of grapevines. Instead, I was leading her toward the small patch of woods, just on the other side of Lumiere's property.

"Will Felix miss you?" I asked.

"No, I don't think so," she said. "He has much more interesting people to keep him company now."

I smiled, remembering the way Laurent had asked so many eager questions about the plane.

"I think you're right," I said.

And then, finally, just as the sweat had gathered enough to drip down my spine, the road turned toward the woods, and for the first time that day, in the cool, quiet shade of the trees, we found ourselves alone.


	5. Chapter 5

"So," I said, leading Cosima into the shade of the Alder trees. "How long did you stay at Le Chiot?"

"Last night?" she said, leaning her head back, looking up at the high branches and taking a deep breath.

"Yes."

I glanced at the smudge of dirt on her neck.

"Not so late," she said, shoving her helmet and goggles into her pockets. "We left about an hour after you did."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah," she said, pulling off her leather jacket, sleeve by sleeve. "I had no reason to stay, but Felix… Let's just say, he found lots of reasons to stay, if you know what I mean."

"I think so."

She tied her jacket around her waist.

We walked along in silence, following a path that led off the main road. We followed the path until it came down to a narrow, fast-moving creek.

"Wow!" she gasped. "It's beautiful!"

She stepped out onto a boulder, and the boulder jutted out into the water, and the heels of her boots clomped loudly, and I watched her go, staying back, leaning against a tree.

"Yes, it is," I said. "I come here often."

"I would, too," she said. "I'd come here every day! You know, it reminds me of the Muir Woods."

"The Muir Woods?" I said. "Where's that?"

"Near San Francisco," she said. "That's where I was born."

"Oh?" I said. "California?"

"Yeah. Do you know much about San Francisco?"

"Only what I've seen in the movies, or read in books."

"You should go someday," she said. "I think you'd like it."

"I'm sure I would. But I've never really gone anywhere, except Strasbourg."

"No? Not even Paris?"

"Once, I think. But I don't remember it."

"Your family doesn't travel?"

I had to laugh at that.

"My family?! No! No, no, no. My family has the vineyards. We can't leave them. There's too much work to do."

"I see," she said. "Well, maybe one day."

"Yes, I hope so," I said. "I've applied to several universities there. I'm just waiting to hear back."

"Oh? What will you study?"

"Linguistics, probably. Or medicine. Or biology. I'm not sure."

"Wow," she said. "You have a lot of interests!"

"I think too many, sometimes."

"Linguistics, huh?"

"Yes, I want to study and compare languages; the similarities, the differences. I think language is fascinating because we all use it, every day, to communicate any number of things; things as mundane as a grocery list, or a recipe; and things as extraordinary as _The Odyssey...Romeo and Juliet...Les Liaisons Dangereuses._ And we do it like it's no big deal, but really, it's pretty amazing. It's amazing because with less than a hundred unique sounds, we can communicate every idea that's ever been thought, in any language."

I looked up and she was staring at my mouth. I licked my lips and smiled.

"You think I'm silly," I said.

"No," she said. "I'm impressed, which is impressive, because I'm not easily impressed."

"I don't know…" I said. "You seem like a linguist yourself."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for instance, you seemed to understand Madame Bijou pretty well last night. In fact, you seem to understand everyone pretty well. I think you know more than you are letting on."

"Comprehension and speech are two completely different things," she said. "Besides, I get too frustrated trying to speak in another language. I have too many ideas, and too many things I want to say, and I can't handle the mental hurdles of trying to think in another language. But you do it marvelously."

I blushed.

"Merci," I said.

We were both quiet for a moment. She kicked the toe of her boot against the boulder. She put her hands on her hips and looked down.

"Anyway, my family travels all the time," she said. "Maybe too much."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," she said. "My father does some kind of top secret work for the British government, but I'm not supposed to tell you that. So now that I've told you, I should probably kill you."

She looked up with a stern expression.

"You're joking."

"Only about the killing part."

"Oh," I said, crossing my arms.

She smiled then, laughing at her own joke.

"Relax," she said. "He does geographical surveys. He makes maps and stuff."

"Ah! Un cartographe!"

"Yeah, exactly!"

"Maps of what?"

"Whatever his boss asks him to," she said. "We've been to England, Germany, Belgium and now we are here, in France. Next, he says we are going to Egypt."

"Wow!" I said. "I'd die to go to Egypt! I'd love to see the hieroglyphics!"

"It sounds like a lot, but it doesn't feel that way," she said. "We moved to England first when I was nine. That's where I met Felix. His father and my father are partners, I guess. Felix's father flies the planes, and my dad sits in the back, taking photographs or making notes."

"Ahha!" I said. "So you're not really cousins?"

"Not really, but we might as well be," she said. "We've been together for so long, we're just like family."

"I see," I said, nodding my head in concentration. "I see."

"What?" she said.

"Nothing," I said. "I was just thinking...last night...at Le Petit Chiot…"

"What?"

"I was thinking that it was strange for cousins to...you know...both…"

"Both what?" she said, taking a step closer.

"Nothing," I said, looking down at my finger as I scratched at the Alder tree. "It's nothing. Nevermind."

"To both be inverts?" she said.

I looked up at the word. I'd never heard it before.

"What's an invert?" I said.

"You know…" she said, taking another step toward me. "Fairies? Deviants? That's what you meant, isn't it?"

"Yes, I guess so," I said. "What was that word?"

"In...vert," she said, over-pronouncing the word, drawing all my attention to her lips as she said it.

"Invert," I repeated softly, willing myself to remember the word. _Le inverti?_

"That's what the head shrinks call people like us," she said. "But I don't like the word. It sounds like we are backwards, or inside out or something. It sounds like there's a mistake, like something is off-kilter and needs to be uprighted. But there's nothing off-kilter about me. I should know, shouldn't I?"

"Of course."

There was a hint of aggression in her voice, and though I knew it wasn't directed at me, I decided it was best to let the subject drop.

Cosima, on the other hand, had other ideas.

"And to answer your first question," she said. "Yes, we are both...the same. We are both...open-minded...open-hearted, you could say."

"Wow," I said because I didn't know what else to say.

"What are the chances, right? What are the chances that two best friends would be the same?"

"You're lucky," I said. "Another statistical improbability… a fortunate one."

"Yeah, I guess so," she said, laughing. "And what about you?"

"Me?"

"You and your brother?"

"Laurent?" I said. "Well, I think he is…"

I wanted to use the new word, _invert_, but she was right, something about it felt uncomfortable. And words like _fairy_ or _deviant_ seemed equally silly or sinister. Neither described him.

"He has always liked boys...men, I mean. I never really thought it was strange. That's just Laurent."

"And you?"

She was standing so close, her body heat radiated against my arm. She reached up and touched the same tree, running her finger in the same back and forth motions over its fissured bark.

I swallowed hard.

"Me?"

"Who do you like?" she asked.

Her voice was tight, like the question was uncomfortable, like she might not want to know the answer.

_You_! I thought right away. _I like you_!

"I don't know," I said instead, shrugging my shoulders and looking away. "I mean, I never really thought about it much."

_Lies! _I thought.

I smiled to myself. I don't know why I smiled. There was nothing to smile about, but I felt her staring at me - at the side of my face - and it made me hot all over.

_She knows,_ I thought. _Just tell her! She already knows!_

I looked at her then. She met my smile with a smile of her own. She tilted her head to the side, giggled and leaned back from the tree.

"I don't know," I repeated, looking back at my own hand. "I mean, I've never really felt much of anything...for anyone...I mean, I would see the way Laurent looked at his friends when we were younger. And then, when he started taking me to that bar, I saw how these men had such power over him...how just a little attention from a handsome guy could put him in a good mood for days...or, the opposite...the rejection would tear him up and he'd stay in bed and my mother would be sick with worry over him, not knowing what was wrong. It all seemed a little silly to me, because I'd never felt anything like that...not for a boy...not for a girl, either."

I looked back at her, checking to see if she understood. She said nothing, but she smiled softly.

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe I'm a late bloomer. That's what my mother always says. But I'm not so sure…"

I glanced her way and she was still listening, still smiling. She made no move to interrupt me, and so I kept going, kept talking, kept saying things that I'd never said to anyone.

"For instance," I said. "There's this boy, Ethan. He helps my family with the work in the vineyards. My father wants to take him on as a fulltime apprentice. But if Ethan becomes an apprentice, I just know my parents are going to get ideas."

"What kind of ideas?"

"The kind that involve weddings."

"Oh…"

"The truth is, he's a nice guy, I guess," I said. "But he stares at me and it makes me really uncomfortable. And I just don't know what we would talk about. He never says much of anything. And one time he asked me to go to the cinema with him, and the idea made my skin crawl."

"I guess it's not going to work out, then," she said.

"No, I guess not."

"I guess you're going to have to tell your parents," she said, laughing. "Try to break it to them easily."

"Yeah, I guess so."

I felt her looking at me again, and it occurred to me that I didn't mind it. I didn't mind her staring. No, in fact, I craved it; craved her attention and the way it made me feel.

_Why is it different?_ I wondered to myself. _Why is she different? Why am I different around her?_

"Well," she said. "What about your school friends? Did you ever like one of them...more than you should?"

"No," I said. "No, not like this…"

And then I shut my mouth and I caught my breath.

_Merde!_ I thought. _I talk too much!_

"Like what?" she said.

I smiled again, or rather, my mouth seemed to smile without my consent. My cheeks pushed up, and my skin flushed and my eyes watered, and I had no control over any of it. I bit my lip and swallowed, looking away from her, looking up toward the road instead.

"Delphine? Like what?"

I shook my head from side to side. "Like nothing," I said, but my throat was blocked up with tension.

I crossed my arms and took a step backwards.

"Are you hungry?" I said without looking at her.

"Yeah, sure," she said.

"There are some cherry trees up the road," I said. "It's a little late in the season, but maybe there are still some fruits left."

Though I couldn't see her, though she was a few steps behind me, I heard her smirk.

"Fruits?"

"Yes," I said, realizing my mistake. "I mean, fruit."

I felt her fingertip brush the back of my elbow. I turned to look at her, still feeling shy.

"I always get that one wrong," I said. "Almost always."

"It's okay. It's cute."

"Fruit," I said again. "Why? Why this one word?"

"I don't know."

"And fish!"

"And deer," she added. "Don't forget deer."

"I hate English," I said, turning away from her.

I led her to the cherry trees. Their branches were untamed, growing in jagged patterns and arching downwards at the ends. I led her to my favorite tree. It was my favorite because the branches hung so low that the ends swept the ground, creating a curtain of dark green leaves. When standing outside the perimeter of them, you could barely see inside to the trunk, but once standing on the inside, you could barely see the world beyond.

"Don't tell Monsieur Lumiere we came here," I said, crouching down under the branches.

"Are we trespassing again?" she said, following me.

"Technically," I said. "But he hardly ever gets out here. He's too focused on his vineyards to care about a few cherries. In fact, the only time he even remembers they are here is if he catches me and Laurent with our hands full."

Once we ducked beneath the outer reaches of the branches, we stood up, and the dark green leaves surrounded us on all sides.

"Wow!" Cosima said, spinning around. "This is so...charming!"

"I love this place," I said, quietly. "You should see it in the spring, when everything is covered in pink flowers. It's so beautiful."

"I believe it!" she said.

"When we were kids, in the spring, when the flowers were blooming, Laurent and I both pretended this was our palace, but in the summer, when the leaves were dark like this, I always insisted it was our jungle fortress."

"Yes, I can imagine," she said. "It's the perfect place for a jungle fortress! I bet you had tons of adventures here!"

"Yes," I said. "We played war sometimes. Or pretended we were exploring the Amazon, or the North Pole. Sometimes, we just played house, you know, sweeping the floor and baking mud pies."

"How domestic," she said.

"Not always. Sometimes this was our pirate ship, and all around us were sharks. It was my job to climb the mast and be the lookout while Laurent fished for our dinner."

I laid a hand on the tree trunk and looked up.

"Climb the mast, huh?" Cosima said, looking up with me.

"I'm too big to climb it now," I said.

"Maybe not. The branches look strong."

She patted the tree trunk heartily.

_Tap! Tap! Tap!_

"I can't! I'm wearing a dress!"

"I promise not to look."

She crossed her heart with her finger and I stood with my hand on the trunk, contemplating.

"Alright," I said. "Just once!"

I gathered my skirt up between my knees. Then I turned to her with a bossy finger in the air.

"Don't even think about it," I said.

"Don't worry about me," she said. "I'll be too busy fishing anyway. A girl's gotta eat, right?"

She walked over to where the branches sagged toward the ground and kneeled down. She picked up a stray twig, and balancing back onto her hind quarters, she looked just like a fisherman on a rock, overlooking the sea; just like the ones you see in paintings.

"Incroyable! Il ya tellement de poissons!" she shouted, her voice dropping an octave. "Gros poissons incroyable!"

I laughed and began to climb the tree, which wasn't as tall as I had remembered.

"Je n'ai jamais vu un tel gros poisson!" she continued in her best impression of a Frenchman.

I didn't have the heart to tell her she sounded ridiculous.

"Oh! Regardez! Un dolphine!"

I reached the top of the tree, and I was tempted to stand up and look out, but thought better of it; I wasn't as small as I used to be. Instead, I perched myself on the sturdiest branch I could find, which was no more than a few meters off the ground. I watched Cosima's back and laughed.

"Un dolphine?" I called back to her.

"Bien sûr!"

"Et quoi d'autre?" I said. _And what else?_

"Oh! J'ai attrapé quelque chose!" she said, standing up suddenly.

She yanked on her imaginary fishing pole emphatically, miming the actions of a fisherman in the middle of a good catch. Her leather jacket slipped from her hips, gliding down her legs to the ground.

"Qu'Est-ce que c'est!?" I said through giggles.

"Je ne sais pas! Quelque chose de grand! Énorme!"

I was in a fit of laughter then. She pulled and pulled up on the twig, arching her back in a pantomime of great exertion, grunting like a fool.

"Ahha!" she said finally. She held up her imaginary catch to me, quite proud.

"Qu'Est-ce que c'est?"

She thought for a moment, and then, not sure how to say what she wanted to say, she switched back into English.

"This is a very rare creature," she said. "Warm-blooded...a natural communicator...intelligent eyes and a fair complexion...and from what I've heard, delicious!"

"Oh?"

"Do you know what it is?" she asked, her eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"I don't know. What?"

"You sure you don't want to guess?"

"I don't know...a dolphine?"

"So close!"

"Not a dolphine?"

"No, not a dolphine, but a...Delphine," she said slowly, quite proud of herself.

I groaned even as the first syllable of my name slipped past her lips. She bowed anyway.

"That's awful!" I said, plucking a handful of cherries from the tree and tossing them at her.

"Oh, non! Il a peur! Il nage loin!" she said, pretending to watch the imaginary creature swim away. She stood with her hand over her brow, as if she were looking out over the horizon and not at a wall of dark green leaves.

"Now what will we eat?" she asked.

"Here!" I said, reaching up and plucking down another handful of bright red cherries. "You must try these! They are not sweet like other cherries, but that's what makes them special."

I scurried down the tree without a thought for my skirt and where she might be looking.

I

held out my hand. She reached for a single cherry, which was still attached to the bunch at the stem. We giggled as we pulled them apart. Then I watched her face as she ate the cherry, as she pulled the stem away from her lips, as her eyes went wide at the flavor, as she smiled and rolled the pit around on her tongue.

She coughed as her eyes watered.

"Well?" I said.

"You're right," she said, spitting the pit onto the ground. "They're not very sweet at all!"

"You don't like it?"

"No, I like it...it's just not what I expected."

"I love them!" I said, popping a cherry into my mouth. "I love the intense flavor."

"Let me try again," she said, stretching her arm up, stretching toward a branch that was out of her reach.

I tried not to stare, but I glanced, very quickly, at the place where her cotton blouse was tucked into her trousers. I glanced at the way the fabric stretched tightly across her stomach as she reached her arm out.

Suddenly her words came back to me.

_Did you ever like one of them...more than you should?_

I glanced at her again; at her wild curls, at her leather boots, at her cotton shirt and men's trousers, at the delicate glasses that sat on her nose as she stretched toward those cherries that were just out of her reach.

I took a step toward her. Without thinking, I pulled down on her forearm.

"Here," I said. "Let me."

I reached up, and though I had to stand on tippy-toes, it took very little effort to pluck down the bunch she had been reaching for.

When I settled back onto my heels and looked down at her, I found myself very close to her, nearly on top of her. I found myself still holding fast to her forearm. And now she held fast to my waist, just like she had the night before, just like we were dancing again. Only there was no music; save for the sound of the birds and the breeze; save for the sound of my own pulse pounding in my ears.

I stood like a statue, with the cherries raised overhead, caught in her sunflower gaze.

She smiled.

I smiled.

Then her eyes shot to my lips and back up again.

Still I couldn't move. Her hands were hot. I was sweating.

I was overwhelmed by the closeness of her face. I wasn't sure where to look, so I looked at everything; at her brows, at her pupils, at the beauty mark on her cheek, at her pale lips just as she took a breath and spoke.

"Je veux..." she said, but then she stalled.

My heart! My heart was pounding! I was certain she could hear it...or feel it.

I wasn't sure what she wanted, but I had a pretty good idea that whatever it was, I wanted it, too.

"D'accord," I whispered.

She smiled.

"I want to dance with you again," she said.

"Oh," I said, lowering my cherry-filled hand, feeling a bit foolish.

"And…" she said.

"And?"

She pulled me close by my waist. She leaned up. She tilted her head back. She closed her eyes as her mouth moved towards mine.

I did not close my eyes. I watched as her every gesture seemed to slow way down. I watched her body shift toward me. I watched the shadows of the cherry trees slip across her cheeks and forehead. I watched the sun reflect off her glasses in a starburst of light. I watched her pale lips purse as she moved toward me. But then she was so close, I couldn't see them anymore.

Only then, at the very, very last moment did I close my eyes.

Only then, did our lips brush together. A surge of energy rushed through me, and all the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and all the muscles in my stomach tightened, and I stood absolutely still, my whole body clenched in anticipation.

But it was only for an instant; a blue, hot instant.

"Delphine?" someone called in the distance.

Cosima jumped away from me, just as the footsteps approached. She leaned against the tree trunk, and I turned toward our intruder, still holding the cherries in my hand.

I recognized his voice right away.

"Delphine?" he said again.

"Yes, Ethan," I said, brushing my own tingling lips with the back of my hand. "I'm here. We're here."

"Where?" he said, standing just beyond the leafy branches.

I reached a hand out and waved.

"Here!" I said.

He ducked underneath the branches and stepped into our jungle fortress; into our pirate ship. He must have known right away that he was not welcome, because he seemed to shrink beneath the branches, even though there was plenty of room to stand up.

"Wow," he said. "You can't see any of this from out there."

_That's the point!_ I thought.

Then he noticed Cosima.

"Oh, bonjour," he said.

"Bonjour," she said back.

"What do you want?" I said, pushing my hair from my forehead.

"Ehm, your mother is looking for you," he said. "She says she needs your help for supper."

"Supper? At this hour?"

"Well," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets, "your father has invited everyone to supper."

"Everyone?"

"Yes, the pilots, the Lumieres, everyone," he said, glancing at Cosima and then back to me.

"Oh," I said.

I turned toward Cosima.

"Looks like you're staying for supper," I said.

"Great!" she said, popping another cherry into her mouth. "I'm starved after all that fishing!"

I held back a giggle.

Ethan just stood there, staring.

"Well...thank you for the message, Ethan," I said.

He smiled sheepishly, but he made no move to leave.

"Ehm...you can tell my mother I'll be there soon."

"Sure," he said.

"I have one more thing to show Cosima, so…" I said, sighing deeply, hoping he would get the idea.

"Oh, bien," he said, finally backing away. "See you soon then."

He ducked back under the branches and we listened to the sound of his footsteps trail off.

I turned back to Cosima. I held my breath. She picked up her leather jacket from the ground and dusted it off.

"So…" she said. "That was Ethan?"

"That was him."

"He seems...nice."

"As nice as a sack of flour," I said. "As interesting, too."

"Don't be so hard on him. You know what they say; still waters run deep."

"Yeah, maybe," I said. "Or maybe, still waters stagnate and attract flies."

She ate another cherry, pulling the stem out of her mouth and watching me watch her.

"Anyway," I said. "I don't want to talk about him."

"Do you think he saw us?"

"No," I said, and I felt fairly confident of that, but I blushed at the memory of the kiss. "But maybe we should get back soon."

"I thought you had something else to show me," she said. "Another secret hiding spot or something?"

"Non," I said, looking down.

I crossed my arms as if I could hide myself; as if I could hide my reddening cheeks or my trembling hands.

"Non," I said again. "I already showed you everything."

When I looked up, she smiled and leaned toward me.

"And I'm impressed," she said.

Our elbows touched as she passed. Then she ducked beneath the branches and waited for me on the other side.

I touched my lips again. I could not stop myself. I touched my lips with my fingertips and my whole body smiled.

_More than I should?_ I thought. _Do I like her more than I should? Yes, I like her very much!_


	6. Chapter 6

I smiled all the way home. I smiled with my head down, my eyes cast to the ground, my hands swinging in uncomfortable arcs at my side. I was a bundle of nerves and limbs.

If Cosima noticed any of my clumsiness, she was kind enough to ignore it. Instead, she walked along beside me, saying nothing. The air between us was thick; thick and giddy.

All the while, I was torn. On the one hand, I wanted to run away; I wanted to run to my room and slam the door behind me, just so that I could have a moment to take a breath. On the other hand, I wanted to grab her by the elbow and pull her back into the shade of the cherry trees. But what we would do when we got there, I had no idea.

Once inside the house, my mother put us to work right away. She delegated tasks in a frantic sort of way and soon Cosima and I were standing on opposite ends of the table, glancing up at each other as my mother buzzed around us.

I rolled out dough, getting flour all over myself and the table. Cosima peeled potatoes, letting the skins fall into a large bowl.

My mother peppered her with questions and she answered them gracefully. And less than gracefully, I translated her answers. If she found the interrogation bothersome, she never let on. She kept smiling and making jokes, until, I swear, my mother was as charmed with her as I was.

By the time the food was prepared and the long patio table was set, the sun was already settling over the horizon. It lit up the sky with fluorescent pinks. The evening winds had picked up, sending occasional chills down my back.

Or, maybe it was Cosima. Maybe she was the one who was giving me chills.

She sat directly across from me, you see, and in the pinkish light of the sunset, her hair was backlit and glowing. The collar of her shirt, which was unbuttoned, slouched away from her neck and I couldn't stop myself from noticing the spot. I couldn't stop myself from imagining what it would be like to touch her, to push the collar even further down the slope of her shoulder.

Then she'd look up, our eyes would meet, and I'd feel that wave of pleasure.

That's where my mind was; so distracted by the woman in front of me that I barely heard the conversation around me. I barely listened as they discussed Lumiere's field or the airplane that was stuck there. I only distantly heard Felix's diagnosis of the situation, and I only paid attention because Cosima reacted so strongly, sitting straight up, her eyes wide and her mouth open.

"Well," Felix said, "I hate to say it, but it looks like a catastrophic engine failure."

"You're joking," Cosima said, nearly spitting out her food.

"A what?" my father said, and suddenly everyone at the table looked to me.

"A _catastrophic…" _Felix said slowly, emphasizing every word, "_engine...failure_. The crankshaft bearings have given out and, well, basically the entire engine has self-combusted. You're lucky to be alive, Cosima."

"What can I say? I'm a lucky girl."

She tried to laugh it off, but there was a twinge of fear in her smile.

"Oh, my," Madame Lumiere said. "What does that mean?"

"The engine is...ehm, broken," I translated.

"How broken?" my father said.

"Very," I said.

"Oh, dear," my mother said.

"Will they be out of my field by Monday?" Monsieur Lumiere asked.

Felix laughed at the question.

"It's not likely," he said in French, taking a sip of his wine. "I'll have to rebuild the whole thing from the ground up. And I'll have to order the parts from the manufacturer. It could take weeks."

"Weeks? No, it's unacceptable," Monsieur Lumiere grunted. "Unacceptable."

"Now, don't get upset," Madame Lumiere said.

"Well, what if we move it?" I said.

"Move it?" Felix said.

"Yes, we can move it to our barn with the tractor."

"That's true," Laurent said, turning to Felix. "The wheels still work, right?"

"As far as I can tell," Felix said.

"And it can't be that heavy. It's made of wood and canvas, isn't it?"

"Mostly, yes," Felix said. "Except for that wrecked engine."

"I think we can move it. I don't see why not. The tractor should be able to handle it, no problem. Father, isn't that right?!"

"Yes, that sounds alright," my father said, nodding his head in agreement.

Monsieur Lumiere watched the conversation with squinted eyes and a twisted up mouth. My father turned to him.

"What do you think of that?" my father said.

"As long as it is out of the way by Monday," Lumiere grunted. "And as long as I still get my renting fee."

"Of course," Cosima said, her face a little paler. "Of course. And we can pay you, too, Monsieur Cormier."

"Sure, sure," my father said. "Let's talk about the details later."

"Well, perfect," Madame Lumiere said, clapping her hands together. "Just perfect!"

Monsieur Lumiere shifted in his chair, then took a big bite of stew.

Cosima seemed to fidget in her chair, too, pushing her food around on her plate.

"So," my mother said with bright eyes. "It looks like we'll be seeing more of the aviationists around here!"

She couldn't hide her excitement, and neither could I.

"Most certainly," Madame Lumiere chimed in. "How lovely!"

"Of course, you are always welcome to stay here," my mother said. "There's no reason for you to commute into Strasbourg every day when we have plenty of room in the house."

I trembled at the thought. I glanced at Cosima. She smiled shyly and pushed her glasses up her nose.

"Thank you, Madame Cormier," Felix said. "That's very kind of you, but let's focus on moving that bird first. My father's going to hit the roof when he hears the news."

We all fell silent.

Someone had left the radio on in the sitting room and the music drifted out onto the patio; the singer's soprano blending in with the chirping crickets. Everyone ate, forking mouthfuls of stew into their faces. Everyone drank, sipping at their wine glasses with pensive expressions. Only Monsieur Lumiere seemed blasé about the idea of our guests staying longer.

A breeze kicked up, blowing a strand of hair across Cosima's face. She looked worried. I reached my foot out and nudged it against hers. She looked up, brushing the hair from her face, and our eyes met again.

'What's wrong?'I tried to say with my eyes.

She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, just barely, just so that I could see, as if to say, 'It's nothing, I'm fine.'

But I knew she wasn't fine, and that made me nervous.

"Did you know that Cosima and Felix have traveled all over Europe?" I said to the table.

"Oh, really?" Madame Lumiere said.

"Oh, yes!" I said. "They've been to England, Belgium, Germany…"

"Whereabouts in Germany?" Madame Lumiere said.

"Near Frankfurt," Cosima said. "I have family there."

"Oh! What a coincidence! We have family there, too," Madame Lumiere said. She glanced at her husband, checking to make sure he fully appreciated the coincidence.

He smiled half-heartedly and took another bite of stew.

"What's your family name?" Madame Lumiere said.

"Niehaus," Cosima said.

"Niehaus...Niehaus…hmmm, I don't think I know anyone named Niehaus," Madame Lumiere said. "My sister is there. Her husband's name is Schmidt, but you know, who's name isn't Schmidt?"

Cosima laughed, but somehow I knew that it wasn't her real laugh. Somehow I knew that she was only being polite. I took a sip of wine.

_Niehaus. Cosima Niehaus._

I mulled the name over in my mind, even as I mulled the wine over in my mouth. I liked the taste of it.

_Niehaus,_ I thought. _Never home. _

"But I've been living in England mostly, with Felix and his family," Cosima said.

"Ah! Yes! That's the accent!" Laurent said, turning to Felix. "Whereabouts? Near London?"

"Yes," Felix said. "I can take the train and be downtown in no time."

Felix snapped his fingers, and Laurent's face lit up.

"Oh, I'd love to go to London one day!" Laurent said.

"Would you, now?" my father chimed in. "I didn't know that."

"Yes," Laurent said. "I've always been interested in traveling."

"Hmm," my father said, looking down at his food. "Since when?"

"Well, I can't stay here forever," Laurent said.

We all fell silent again, and the song on the radio had changed to something a little more somber, the singer's voice full of sad vibrato.

"You should all come visit!" Felix said, nervously stroking at the hair behind his ear. "The more the merrier!"

"And what's wrong with here?" my father said.

Laurent's cheeks reddened and he stuttered.

"Well, nothing," he said. "Nothing, but there's a lot more to see in the world… more to do… than stare at endless rows of grapevines and count endless barrels of wine."

Monsieur Lumiere grunted from his end of the table and leaned back with his arms crossed. The air was tense. Felix dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and Cosima took a long swig of her wine.

"I went to London once," Ethan said, startling everyone.

We all turned to him. We all stared; and I stared most of all.

"I didn't like it much," he said, holding his fork mid-air. "It smelled like urine and there was trash everywhere."

Cosima's eyebrows shot up. Then she turned her head to scan the faces of the other guests at the table.

"Of course," she said after clearing her throat. "Of course, it's important to travel, but I have to say…"

She spoke slowly, struggling to be accurate in her French. "...this town, Rosheim, and these hills and woods and vineyards, all of it...well, the scenery is really quite…"

Then she paused, glancing at me.

"...stunning."

A shiver ran down my spine and back up again, tickling me in many places at once, but then she turned away. She turned back toward my father with a polite smile on her lips.

My mother took a deep breath, bringing her hand to her chest. She looked as though she might cry because she was so happy; as if someone had just complimented her newborn baby. My father shifted in his chair, a smug expression on his face.

"You hear that," he said. "Rosheim is stunning."

Felix smirked in Cosima's direction, and I thought I saw him wink at her. I pretended not to notice.

Laurent, on the other hand, he just smiled his carefree smile and pushed his hair out of his face. He leaned back in his chair in a sportsmanlike acceptance of defeat, but I could tell he didn't feel as carefree as he was acting.

The night was taking a strange turn; the two most charming people at the table seemed to be wilting at the edges.

"Well said," Monsieur Lumiere grunted, lifting his wine glass in the air. "To Rosheim, and to Rosheim wines."

We all followed, raising our glasses and taking a long drink.

"You know," Madame Lumiere said. "I've never really traveled much, either. Never really felt the need to. Of course, I've traveled to Frankfurt, to see my sister, but I don't go there much these days. I don't much enjoy it, you know, with the way things are going over there; with that Chancellor they have over there. Things are starting to get...uncomfortable."

"That's an understatement," my father said.

As my father spoke, I noticed a shared look between Felix and Cosima, like they knew something the rest of us didn't. They looked to Madame Lumiere, then they looked to my father, then back to each other. Felix cleared his throat.

"Oh, come on," I said, becoming increasingly uncomfortable. "Let's not talk about politics at the dinner table."

"You're right," Madame Lumiere said. "I don't want to spoil the good atmosphere."

_What's left of it, anyway_, I thought.

Madame Lumiere took a long sip of wine, and everyone sat quietly, not quite sure what topic to bring up next.

"I'm just worried about my sister," Madame Lumiere spoke up again. "She sends me letters about what's happening over there. You know, the Nazi's destroyed the synagogue right next to her house. They just drove up and set it on fire. She's lucky her own apartment building didn't catch on fire, too! I wrote back saying, 'Thank god you are safe and thank god you didn't marry a Jew!'"

Monsieur Lumiere grunted in agreement.

"Bless those poor souls," my mother said quietly.

"Yes, bless them," Madame Lumiere said. "You know, I have nothing against the Jews. I'm sure they're nice people, but I'm just glad we don't have to deal with that sort of thing around here. Someone could get hurt!"

"Someone is getting hurt," my father said. "Probably a lot of people. And Frankfurt is not so far as you think."

"Yes," she said. "Yes, yes, you're right. But can you just imagine? Can you imagine if soldiers just set the cathedral on fire? Just like that? With no warning? Something like that could destroy half the town. It's not like we have a professional fire service here in Rosheim."

"Oh, God forbid!" my mother said, crossing her hand in front of her chest.

"Well, maybe we should," Laurent said. "Maybe we should have a professional fire service. There's no reason why not."

"Expensive," Lumiere grunted. "That's why not."

"Well, a volunteer brigade, at least," Laurent said. "I might volunteer, if there was one."

"You most certainly wouldn't," my father said.

"Why not?"

"Oh, let's not argue," my mother said. "Laurent, we just don't want to see you put yourself in danger, that's all."

Laurent closed his mouth, but I could see the frustration set in his jaw.

Cosima looked like she had something to say, but then thought better of it.

We were silent again. The crickets chirped on, seemingly unaware of the tension in the air.

Ethan shifted in his seat, and his chair creaked, drawing everyone's attention.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

I looked around the table at everyone's downward cast eyes, everyone's pensive hands that played with leftover food or clasped nervously to the stem of a wine glass. The only person who met my gaze was Felix. He winced at me and shrugged his shoulder as if to say, 'I don't know what happened.'

Then he pushed back his chair, quite unexpectedly.

"This was a lovely meal, Madame Cormier!" he said, reaching a hand out toward my mother. "And now, as my repayment, might I ask for your hand in a dance?"

My mother took a deep breath, her eyes moving from my father to Felix.

"A dance?!" she gasped. "Oh, I don't know about that!"

A lively waltz was playing on the radio, full of stand up bass, horns and piano.

"Jacques? What do you think?"

"I don't see why not," my father said.

My mother laughed and stood up, pressing the imagined wrinkles out of the front of her skirt.

"Actually," Cosima said, also standing up. "Don't you think it's getting late, Felix?"

My heart stopped.

"Well... not really," he said, as confused as the rest of us.

"It's only eight o'clock!" I said, unable to keep my voice down.

Cosima glanced at me, and her eyes were apologetic, but only for a moment. She turned back to Felix with resolve.

"I think it's best if we get back to the hotel," she said. "We should notify your father right away."

"Well, when you put it that way," Felix said, but I could tell he didn't really mean it. "And, I guess we do have an early start tomorrow."

_No!_ I thought. _No! This isn't how it's supposed to happen!_

But even as I screamed my internal protests, Cosima reached for my mother's hands. She clasped them in her own as she said her compliments and salutations. Felix did the same, first shaking my father's hand and then Laurent's. Monsieur Lumiere simply gave them a nod of the head, and Madame Lumiere gave them each two kisses on the cheek.

Cosima walked to me, and quickly leaned in. I wanted to be happy about it, but everything was wrong. She didn't touch my arm, she didn't look in my eyes, she didn't linger in my space. No, she kissed me as fast as she could and turned away, as if the thought of touching me repulsed her.

"Au revoir, Cosima," I said, reaching for her hand.

But I was too slow.

"Au revoir," she said, omitting my name. "See you tomorrow."

Intentional or not, I felt it like a stab in my sternum.

_No!_ I thought. _No! We are supposed to dance together! We are supposed to! I left the radio on!_

But it was no use. My father ushered them through the house and out to the front road. Felix swung his long leg over the motorcycle, tossing his white scarf around his neck. Cosima curled herself up into the sidecar, pulling her goggles on before I could get a last look at her.

I turned away.

As I walked toward the front door, my mind was in a stupor. But with each step, my teeth clenched tighter, and my fists balled themselves up at my side. With each step, my shock faded into a frustrated sadness.

_This is not how it was supposed to happen! _I thought.

I turned around, but the motorcycle was already out of sight. I could only listen to the rumbling engine sounds as it rode away into the night, leaving only a cloud of dust in its wake.


	7. Chapter 7

To say that I cried…

Well, yes, I cried, but only after I climbed the stairs, slowly, deliberately, so that my family suspected nothing; only after I closed the door behind me, hearing the latch click calmly in place; only after I fell face first onto the bed, resisting the urge to look out the window.

Yes, I cried, and in crying, I heard myself. I could not believe the sounds.

_What has happened?_ I thought. _Where has she gone? Am I a fool? Was it all some cruel trick?_

My mind tossed these questions over and over, the same way my mother would toss old rags in a bucket of dirty water.

_Something's wrong,_ I thought. _She was worried. She was scared. She must have a reason. She must have a reason! She will explain everything tomorrow._

For a moment, I would be satisfied. I'd take a breath and wipe my nose. I'd relax my face into the pillow, staring blankly at the stitching on my quilt. For a moment, I would believe myself; it was all just a miscommunication.

But then, I'd think of her face - of the shadows of the cherry trees on her face. I'd think of the moment she said, _je veux;_ that uncanny moment when I was sure that I wanted whatever she wanted. It was a synchronicity that I'd never experienced before.

_Was it all a lie? _I thought. _Was it all just some cruel trick?_

And there I was, plunged back into the dingy waters of self doubt.

I don't know how long I cried, or what time I fell asleep, but I do know that my mother only came once, speaking softly through the door. I told her that I didn't feel well and she left me alone.

I do know that as I started to drift to sleep, I thought of Laurent; of all the times I'd seen him worked up over a boy he'd only just met. I thought of how much I had pitied him.

_I'm sorry, _I thought. _I didn't understand. _

And when I woke the next morning, I woke up late. My room was bright and hot, and I knew that I must have slept right through breakfast. I almost stood up. I almost walked to the window.

Instead, I rolled over, pulling the blanket up over my head. I didn't want to look out the window. I didn't want to see that field, or anyone who might be in it.

_I've only just met her,_ I thought. _I don't really know her at all. She means nothing to me. And if she is only a stranger, who means nothing, then why should I care if she is outside my window or not? Why should I care at all?_

And then (only because it was so hot and stuffy under that quilt) I stood up, walked to the window and pulled it open. The air outside was stifling. The day seemed to match my mood. There were no clouds. Instead, the sky was an angry shade of gray, and the air was humid and demanding.

_Just strangers,_ I reminded myself as I looked down on Lumiere's field. _Why should I care at all?_

I counted five people. My father sat up on the tractor. Laurent, Felix and Cosima stood behind the wings of the plane, pushing with all their strength, their toes digging into the dirt. Monsieur Lumiere stood by with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

I told myself that I didn't notice her first; that her silhouette wasn't instantly distinguishable from the rest. I told myself that her mannerisms were unfamiliar and unappealing - the way she leaned all of her body weight against the plane, the way her knee bent gracefully, even as she struggled and strained, the way she stood up straight, wiping her brow with the back of her hand.

I told myself she was just a strange girl, that her _very arrival_ in Rosheim was a mistake in navigation; a mistake that would soon be righted.

But then, I could have sworn I saw her turn toward the house. She was too far away to know for sure, but I thought I saw her scan the drive that led to my front door, as if she were waiting for something. Or, someone.

It was only a moment before she turned back to Felix, but it was enough.

_She is waiting for me!_ I thought. _She is waiting for me and she will explain everything!_

It was that thought that drove me into the shower, and that thought that later propelled me down the stairs. I went so fast, I nearly rolled my ankle.

By the time I had made myself decent and pushed open the front door, there was not a single person, nor plane, left in the field. I took a step toward the barn.

"There you are!" my mother called from behind me. "Just in time."

"Just in time?"

Reluctantly, I turned around.

"Yes, just in time to help me with lunch," she said from the doorway.

"Oh? Is it lunch time already?" I asked.

I walked back toward the house. There was no way to wiggle out of the job.

"Maybe not for you, but for the rest of the world," she said. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Yes, much better," I said.

"Maybe you had too much wine," my mother said.

"Maybe," I said and I headed straight for the kitchen.

I worked as fast as I could, but there was an entire bucket of dirty potatoes standing between me and my freedom. They needed to be washed, peeled, cut and cooked into a _gratin_.

My mother laid out an enormous pike fish on the table. It was wrapped in newspaper and it smelled like river moss.

"Can you believe it?!" she said. "I got this fresh from the market today. The man said he caught it just this morning! It can't get any fresher than this! Perfect, don't you think? Now I can prepare my famous brochet au four!"

I tried to get as excited as her, but it was hard for me to concentrate. I kept my hands on the potatoes, dunking them in the water and rubbing away the dirt with my thumbs.

_She was waiting for me,_ I thought. _She is still waiting for me. She will explain everything._

But then darker thoughts would mix in.

_But what if she was looking for me because she didn't want to see me?_ I thought. _What if she wants to avoid me at all costs?_

The thought made me squirm with embarrassment.

And still my mother chirped on.

"You should have seen it this morning at the market!" she said. "Everyone was asking me so many questions! 'What is that thing? Is it a real plane? Whose plane is it? How did it get there?' No one believed me when I said that it was a British boy's plane and that his American girlfriend had crashed it into Lumiere's field! Everyone nearly died of shock! They couldn't believe it!"

I looked up then.

"She's not his girlfriend," I said.

My mother shrugged her shoulders.

"We don't know that," she said.

"Yes, we do," I said. "She would have told me. Besides, he's like her brother. It would be gross!"

"Well, you know what they say, 'Two hearts in love need no words.'"

"Mother, they are not in love! Please stop!"

I hadn't meant to shout.

My mother looked up. She looked at the knife clenched in my one hand and the potato clenched in the other. She looked at the way I stood, with both fists on the table.

"Alright," she said with another shrug of her shoulders. "If it bothers you."

We carried on in silence. I hacked at the potatoes haphazardly, until finally I cut right through the tip of my finger. A gush of blood rushed out of the tip. It happened so fast, I lost track of where the missing skin had gone. It was probably already shaved away into the bucket.

I screamed.

My mother screamed, too. She ran to me, grabbing my hand and squeezing my finger in a death grip. She led me to the kitchen sink, where the blood dripped down the drain. She grabbed a cloth and pushed down on the bloody tip, and instantly the cloth was soaked through with red.

"You must squeeze here," she said, pushing down.

I screamed again, louder.

"You must squeeze it to stop the bleeding," she said.

It hurt. Every time she pushed, it hurt. I screamed and clenched my teeth, but I did not cry.

"You silly girl," my mother said, pushing the hair back from my forehead. "All of this over some boy? You're getting just as bad as Laurent."

"What?"

"That's what this is about, right? Last night? And this morning? And now being so distracted that you nearly cut off your finger?"

"That's not what this is about."

_Not exactly,_ I thought.

I nudged her away from me, taking the cloth into my own hand and applying pressure. I leaned over the sink, resting my elbows on the cool porcelain edge.

"No?" she said, glancing into the bucket of cut potatoes.

"No."

She walked away.

"I'm just tired, that's all," I said.

"Well, I guess I can finish up the gratin," she said. "Why don't you take care of that finger? We don't want you to bleed all over our guests."

"Merde," I whispered to myself.

I made my way to the bathroom.

I pulled the bloody cloth away, and for a moment, my finger stood bare and raw. The pink flesh was still, and I thought the bleeding had stopped. But then, the blood rose up and brimmed over the tip, running down the side of my finger. I replaced the cloth and squeezed until my eyes went black.

"Merde!" I shouted.

I kicked the wall.

"Merde!" I shouted again.

I stood facing the mirror, huffing and puffing.

There was a knock at the bathroom door. I didn't move.

"Qu'est-ce?" I said.

"Delphine?"

It was Cosima. I stood upright with my back to the door.

"Merde!" I whispered to my reflection.

I was a mess. There was blood all over my hand, and drops of blood on my dress, and even a streak of blood on my cheek. I tried my best to wipe it off onto my shoulder.

"Delphine? Are you okay?"

"Yes," I said through the door. "Do you need to use the bathroom?"

"No, you're mom said you were having an emergency."

"Oh, no, I'm fine," I said.

"Are you sure? I'm trained in first aid."

Her face was close to the door. I know because my face was close the door, and my ear was nearly pressed against it. Her voice came gently, softly, through the crack. She was so close I could hear every aspirated "s."

"Of course you are," I said softly.

"What?"

I pulled open the door.

"Of course you're trained in first aid," I repeated.

"One of my many talents," she said with a smile.

But when she looked down, her smile faded. She reached for my hand right away, grabbing it by the wrist and lifting it up.

"Well, first of all, you've got to keep it elevated, preferably above the heart," she said.

She pulled it right up to her face to get a better look.

"May I?" she said, reaching for the bloody cloth.

"Yes," I said.

She pulled the cloth away, just for a moment, but it was long enough for one drop of blood to trail down my palm.

"Oops, sorry," she said, replacing the cloth.

"It's okay," I said.

"Second, you've got to stop the bleeding."

"I'm trying," I said.

"You've been pushing it here, but that's not good enough. You've got to apply direct pressure...here."

She pushed down directly on top of the open wound, so that there was nothing between her thumb and my raw flesh, nothing except a thin layer of cloth.

"Merde!" I cried out.

"I'm sorry!" she said, half-laughing and half-wincing. "It's the only way!"

I squirmed beneath her, then leaned back against the wall. She held my finger like that, firmly, for several protracted minutes.

I couldn't look at her. I looked at the floor. I looked at her dusty boots. I looked at the seam of her trousers, now more convinced that they were handmade. I let my eyes wander as high as her leather belt. I looked at the way it hugged her hips.

It was suddenly very stuffy in that bathroom. I took a deep breath.

_This is ridiculous!_ I thought. _I can't just ignore her. She's holding my finger!_

I mustered my courage. I looked up. Our eyes met.

"What do we do when it stops bleeding?" I asked.

"Well," she said, looking at my finger, instead of into my eyes. "_If_ it ever stops bleeding, then we should clean the wound, then cover it with a sterile bandage or cloth. Do you have any rubbing alcohol?"

"Yes, I think so," I said.

We were quiet again. She sighed and her breath landed hot on my wrist. The hairs there stood up.

"Looks like you hurt yourself pretty bad," she said.

"Yeah," I said, laughing. "I'm a fool."

"No, no," she said. "It happens to all of us."

We were quiet again, so quiet that I could swear I heard her swallow.

"Um," she started to say, looking down. "Uh, I think maybe…"

She looked into my eyes, and this time I was certain she swallowed, because I saw it. I saw her jaw set. I saw her Adam's apple drop. I heard her exhale through her nose.

"I think maybe I hurt you, too," she said.

The pain in my finger gave way to the pain in my chest. She was applying direct pressure to a completely different wound. I let out a laugh instead of a scream.

"I…" I started to say, but I knew it would be stupid to lie.

So I said nothing. I looked away.

"I thought so," she said.

Slowly, she started to pull the cloth away from my hand.

"But I hope," she said, as she peaked at the wound. "I hope that…"

She pulled the cloth away completely. We both peered at the raw pink skin. The wound was surrounded by dried blood that was so dark it was almost black.

"I hope that...you will give me a chance to explain."

The wound still hurt but it had stopped bleeding.

"Bien," I said softly.

"Bien," she said with a smile.


	8. Chapter 8

After lunch, Cosima and I snuck out the back door. With my finger wrapped in a fresh bandage and throbbing in pain, it was easy to get out of the dish washing. I patted Laurent on the shoulder before we left.

"Have fun," he whispered.

Cosima and Felix followed me out onto the road, but Felix left us at the barn.

"Are you sure you don't want my help?" Cosima asked.

"No, thank you," he said. "The last thing I need is you messing things about. Just let the artist work."

He turned on his heel and was off.

Soon, we were standing alone. My finger throbbed.

"Well, where should we go?" I said. "Back to the cherry trees?"

"No," she said. "Let's stay here on the road, out in the open. Make sure no one's listening."

"Oh," I said, confused and more than a little disappointed.

_Who would be listening?_

I looked around. There was no one but us and the gray sky.

"Let's just walk a little further from the house."

"D'accord," I said.

We walked in silence. I didn't know what to say, and I could tell she was holding her tongue, or rather, holding her breath, choosing her words carefully.

_What can she possibly say?_ I thought. _Will she apologize? Will she say I misunderstood everything? Will she take back the things she said yesterday? Will she take back her smiles and her laughs and her kiss? _

I glanced at her. She walked with her head down. She walked with a light step and furrowed brows. Her mouth was twisted to the side, like she had something difficult to say.

_Everything was fine,_ I thought. _Everything was fine until dinner. Then something went wrong. Was it the news about the plane? Was it Madame Lumiere and her gloomy talk of Germany? Was it Ethan insulting London? _

"Look," I said. "I'm sorry about yesterday at dinner. My neighbors can be...tactless."

"No," she said. "No, no, it's fine. Everyone was charming."

"And about the barn, you don't have to worry about paying my father. I'm sure he doesn't care about the money. He's not greedy like Lumiere."

"Trust me, I want to pay him," she said. "It's nothing, really."

"Oh," I said. "And I'm sorry about Ethan, he says strange things all the time. I'm sure he didn't mean to insult anyone, I'm sure London doesn't really smell like urine."

"Delphine, you don't have to apologize. I'm the one who has to apologize."

We stopped walking. She reached for my hand. She ran her thumb over the back of my hand just like she had done at Le Petit Chiot. She looked up the road toward Lumiere's house and then back toward my house.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Apologize for what?"

"For last night, when I left so abruptly..." she started. "I didn't mean to...It wasn't my intention…"

She paused and took a deep breath.

"Can we keep walking?" she said.

"Bien," I said.

We walked in silence, still holding hands. I wouldn't have let her go, even if she had wanted to.

"Cosima," I said. "It's okay. You wanted to get back to the hotel. I understand. It was a very long day."

"That's just it," she said. "I wish I could have stayed."

"Really?"

"Yes. I wish I could stay a long time here...in Rosheim. What I said last night was true."

I remembered the word she had said. I remembered the shape of her mouth, and how her lips were red from wine, and the way her tongue flicked against her top teeth.

_Lovely,_ she had said.

I remembered thinking - no hoping - that she wasn't just talking about the town.

"I thought you were exaggerating to impress my parents. Rosheim is just like every other town. Isn't that why you got lost in the first place?"

"No," she said. "I'm not exaggerating. Not even a little bit."

"Oh."

"I've traveled around a lot, you know. And I've seen a lot of places, and I've met a lot of people."

"I'm sure you have," I said.

_Oh, god!_ I thought. _That's it!_ _There's someone else. Another girl. Maybe there are lots of other girls. I'm just one of many!_

The thought was almost unbearable. The throbbing was back; the throbbing in my chest.

"And I just wish…" she said.

She stopped again.

"I just wish I could spend more time here."

She looked toward the house again with one eye scrunched up into a squint, and her head tilted away from the sun.

"But you can't?"

"I don't want to scare you, Delphine," she said.

She looked me right in the eye.

"Scare me?"

"What I'm going to tell you, you can't tell anyone. Not even Felix," she said.

"Okay, I promise."

My ears were hot and ringing.

_What can she possibly have to say?_ I thought.

"Remember, I told you my father works for the British government?"

"Yes. He's a cartographer."

"Yeah, well. He's not exactly a cartographer. I mean, he is, but that's not all."

"Okay…"

"And, remember, I told you we went to Belgium and Germany because my father was making maps?"

"Yes."

"Well, that was true, mostly. But the part I didn't tell you was…"

She paused.

"Just tell me."

She took a deep breath.

"I didn't tell you that my father, and Felix's father...they're intelligence officers for the British government and they have been tracking the development and movements of the Wehrmacht for the past two years."

_Wehrmacht._

I knew the word, only peripherally, having overheard it many times on the nightly news. The broadcaster had always said it with a harsh german accent, over-pronouncing it, trying to make it sound more insidious and foreboding. I had always laughed at his sense of drama.

But when Cosima said it, my stomach dropped. For the first time, I felt anxious.

"The Wehrmacht?" I said. "As in the _Wehrmacht_-Wehrmacht? As in the German army?"

"Well, actually, the entire German defense force, not just the army, but yes, that's the one."

She was trying to make light of the situation, but I could still sense fear in the way she blinked her eyes and in the way she bit the inside of her cheek.

"Okay."

I had to admit it was hard to process what she was telling me.

"Felix doesn't know," she said. "The less he knows, the better."

"And how do you know?"

"I figured it out on my own. I mean, the maps my dad is making are pretty clear. It doesn't take a genius."

"I see," I said, raising my bandaged hand to my chest. "And why are you telling me?"

"I'm telling you because, I think I may have inadvertently put your family in danger."

"In danger?"

I felt suddenly as though I could hear the ocean. I heard that rush of wind and water sound, like someone was holding a seashell to my ear.

"Yes, but you can't tell them anything. The less they know, the better."

"You keep saying that, but what is so dangerous? Can you be more specific?"

"I'm trying," she said. "But I don't want to tell you too much, either, for your own safety. God, I've already made a huge mess of things! I'm really no good at this spycraft."

She turned away from me, letting my hand drop.

"Cosima, just tell me! You're not really making any sense."

I realized that it wasn't the sound of the ocean I was hearing. No, it was the sound of my own blood.

"Alright. Let me start from the beginning."

"Please."

I was very hot, suddenly. And frustrated. I didn't really understand what she was talking about, and I didn't like the way I felt, like the ground was giving way. It was too disorienting. I looked at her face, which I had so naively and hastily accepted into my affections. I looked at her face and realized that I didn't know her at all.

"Two days ago," she said quickly, glancing up and down the road, "I was supposed to deliver a package, an extremely confidential package, to Colmar."

"To Colmar? But there's nothing in Colmar."

"Maybe not, but that's where my father's drop was. That's where I was supposed to meet him. But then, I got confused by all the vineyards, and it should have been Felix, not me! Felix is the pilot, not me! But we swore not to involve Felix, so I had to do it myself. Anyway, I crashed the plane in Lumiere's field. That's where we met."

"I see," I said.

Involuntarily, the memory came up; the image of her stepping her foot on the wing of the plane, just before jumping to the ground.

"But why didn't your father deliver it himself?" I asked.

"He was delivering a different package, but the less you know about that the better."

"Uh-huh."

Another thought came up; the image of her wiping her dusty face with that red handkerchief.

"So I missed my drop, but I thought it would be okay, if we could just fix the plane up and get back to Colmar and deliver the package, but now we're stuck here for two weeks!"

_She never had any intention of staying,_ I thought. _Not even then. Not even that first day. I'm a fool._

"Two weeks isn't so long," I said. "I've sent packages that take months to deliver."

She looked at me and laughed. I didn't like the feeling, like I was being condescended to.

"That's not the kind of package I'm talking about," she said. "Besides, something big is coming. The Nazis are ready for war. They're gathering on the border of Poland as we speak. We might not have two weeks to wait."

"How do you know all of this?"

"I told you, spy kid," she said, pointing to herself.

I didn't like all this talk of spies. It was confusing. And I didn't like her tone. I didn't like the heaviness of her mouth, even though she tried to smile.

"Well, people have been saying that the Germans will start a war for years. It doesn't mean anything. It's just what people say. It's just a topic of conversation, like taxes or the weather."

"No, not this time. My father says an invasion is imminent... any day now. And that's why I've got to deliver this package. I've got to deliver it and get out of here."

"Here? In France? I thought you said they're gathering on the Polish border."

"Yes, but with Strasbourg so close to the border, this entire region is unsafe."

"Then why don't you just deliver the package and leave? Why wait at all?"

_Tell me you want to stay again,_ I thought. _Tell me again that you wish you could stay a long time!_

"It's not that easy. The package is hidden in the plane. And I don't know how to move it without Felix noticing. I thought I'd just wait until he finished the repairs, but now I'm not sure when that will be."

That was not the answer I wanted to hear, but of course, it was the truth.

"So," I said. "Last night at dinner, you got upset because...you realized you had to stay in Rosheim longer than you originally anticipated?"

"No, I got upset because I realized I've put you and your family in danger."

"But before that, earlier in the day, you thought you'd only be here for a few days?"

"Yes," she said.

"Oh," I said.

Again, I thought of her face, of the sun reflecting off of her glasses. I thought of the way she leaned up and closed her eyes.

"But that doesn't change anything," she said, reaching for my hand again.

"What do you mean?" I said, crossing my arms before she could touch me.

"I mean, even though I thought I would have to leave soon, I still…" she stuttered.

She twisted her mouth to the side again. She shoved her hands into her pockets.

"I mean, it doesn't change anything about the kiss, or the fact that I hope I can still get one more dance."

"Oh," was all I managed to say.

I turned away from her. I looked back at my house. It looked very quiet; far away and delicate. The crumbling stone wall looked suddenly fragile, so fragile that even a gust of strong wind might be able to blow it down. I imagined my parents and Laurent standing inside the structure with one wall cut away, the whole house exposed like a doll's house.

_Are they in danger?_ I thought. _Are we in danger?_

I'd never felt this before, this distant sense of danger. In my short life danger had always been something bright and hot like fire, or something sweeping like a strong current. Danger was not a thought, not a warning from a stranger.

I thought of the way my father would sit so still in his armchair as he listened to the evening news. I thought about the way he would scowl, and how his eyes would glaze over as he stared at the wall, as if he were lost in a bad daydream.

"I mean," she said, "yesterday, with you, under the cherry tree…"

I turned back to her.

"...I wished I could stay here, a long time."

"You don't have to say it," I said.

"I mean it," she said.

"Anyway, you're leaving. Whether it's tomorrow or in two weeks, you're still leaving. And when you're gone, we'll still be here."

"Do you think you can convince your family to leave? Just for a little while?"

"Are you kidding? And what would I say? The American says we are in danger? Her father is a spy for the British government?"

She sighed.

"We have to stay," I said. "This is our home. Where would we go?"

"If you came to London, you could stay with us! We have a huge place! There's more than enough room!"

I laughed.

"Do you hear yourself?!" I said.

For the second time that day, I found myself shouting.

"Look, maybe this is all just some game for you," I shouted. "I'm sure its very exciting to travel all over the world and fly airplanes and deliver mysterious packages and seduce strangers, but this is my life, my real life. I can't just leave. My family can't just leave! Once you're gone, everything will go back to normal...this town, my family, me...it will all go back to normal."

My finger throbbed. I lifted my hand up. The bandage was soaked through with blood. I grunted in frustration.

"Right," she said, nodding her head. "It was a stupid idea. I'm sorry."

We stood in the road, not facing each other, but not completely turned away, either.

I was angry and the sun was hot. I couldn't sort out my emotions, especially with her standing beside me.

"Anyway, I won't tell anyone," I said.

"Thank you."

"I have to change my bandage."

"Do you want some help?"

"No!"

I turned and walked toward the house. I didn't look back, but I knew that she was standing in the dusty road, watching my back as I walked away. I can't say for sure that her chest was throbbing, or that she was having trouble breathing, or that her throat was tight, but I sure hoped so.

I hoped she felt exactly as I had felt the night before; confused, sad and frustrated.

But I also listened carefully, with one ear turned back, because underneath the gray sky of my anger, I sincerely hoped that she would chase me. I sincerely hoped that she would stop me, try to explain more, say something to make me feel better, even if that something was a lie.


	9. Chapter 9

She didn't chase me.

I listened for her footsteps, but I heard nothing. It was only after I had entered the house, only when I was closing the front door, that I allowed myself to look for her silhouette.

I assumed she'd still be there, standing out in the sun-baked road, but I was wrong.

_Where did she go?_ I thought. _No! Nevermind. I don't care!_

I closed the door.

No, she didn't chase me.

In fact, I didn't see her for the rest of the day.

I didn't see her, but I heard her voice sometime in the late afternoon. The pilots didn't stay for dinner, you see, despite my mother's strong invitations. I cracked open my bedroom door and listened.

I heard my mother fussing over them, and I heard Felix say that there wasn't much else he could do, that he had to wait for the new parts to arrive before he could make any repairs. I heard him lavish his compliments on our home and on my mother's cooking. I heard my mother nearly squeal with delight.

I heard Cosima's voice, reserved and polite. She spoke plainly of money issues.

I heard my father brush the topic aside and then say his farewells. And I heard Laurent follow them out the front door, asking so many questions that Felix could barely keep up. _How long until the parts arrive? And, once he had the parts, how long would the repairs take? When would they come back to Rosheim?_

Without realizing it, I had stepped out onto the landing. I had leaned far over the banister, trying to hear the answers, but then the door closed behind them and the house was still. I stood in the dim light of the hallway, not wanting to return to my bedroom, because I knew that I would not be able to stop myself from pressing my face up against the window, or worse, from leaning out.

_Better to forget her, _I thought. _She will forget me soon enough._

I heard the motorcycle growl to life and in a few minutes, I knew she was gone.

That night after dinner, my father turned on the radio as he always did. He sat down in his armchair and, with his index finger resting on his chin, he listened to the evening news. Usually, I would be in the kitchen, helping clean up. Usually, I would pay no attention to the seemingly endless drone of the anchorman. But that night, I followed my father into the sitting room and sat down.

If he had thought it was strange that I had joined him, he didn't let on. He was too focused to notice me. I flipped through the pages of a book, pretending to be interested.

The anchorman spoke of the weather, then of the local price of flour and eggs, and then of the rising cost of gasoline.

"_And now, in international news," _the anchorman said.

I noticed his voice shift toward the somber.

"_The Nazi government continues to ensure international authorities that its recent Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact with The Soviet Union is a nonaggressive agreement between the two countries, and that it signifies in no way, the intention or commitment of either party toward a military alliance."_

I found myself sitting very still, my finger still grasping the corner edge of the book page.

"_In response to news of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, British Prime Minister Chamberlain has reiterated his pledge to defend Poland, if indeed, it were to be attacked by the German Defense Forces."_

My stomach leaped to my throat.

What had always been the semi-incoherent ramblings of the radio suddenly became all too clear. It was just like Cosima had said.

"_President Lebrun has stated that he is interested only in maintaining peace and order and that the French government will not be pursuing an active foreign policy at this time."_

"_And on The Soviet Union's eastern border, conflicts with the Japanese continue…"_ the newscaster went on.

My father grunted and shook his head. He reached up and turned the volume down.

"Father," I said.

"Yes?"

"Do you think Hitler will do it? Do you think he will really invade Poland?"

My father took a deep breath.

"I certainly hope not," he said. "But it's not sounding so good, is it?"

"No, not really."

"Don't worry about it too much. Why the sudden interest in politics, anyway?"

"Oh, just something I've been thinking about. I just wonder, if the Nazis attack Poland, what's to stop them from attacking France?"

"I doubt they would do that."

"Why not?"

"Then they'd have a war on both fronts. The Nazis are fascist, racist, elitist... but they're not stupid. Besides, the French military is the strongest in the world. They'll think twice before attacking us."

"But we're so close to the border. Don't you think that puts us all at risk?"

"You might think that, and maybe Strasbourg would have to be evacuated, but it would only be precautionary, I think. We've got the Maginot Line, after all. Alsace is one of the best protected regions in France!"

"I see," I said.

But to be honest, I didn't feel any better. I didn't even know what the Maginot Line was, despite my father's confidence that it would hold.

"What about Rosheim?" I asked.

"What about it?"

"Will we have to evacuate, too?"

He watched my face as I spoke. He looked at me like he had when I was younger, with patience and love, and even a little condescension; in other words, like a father.

"Did I ever tell you what my father told me? About times of crisis?" he said.

"I'm not sure," I said.

"Well, he said that when a man is confronted with the rising waters of life, he has a choice; he can be hard like a rock, or he can be light like a leaf."

"I don't understand."

"A rock stays; it may be changed by the river, but when the water subsides, the rock remains."

"And the leaf?"

"A leaf floats; it follows the river's current... wherever it may lead."

"Which one was he?"

"My father?"

"Yeah."

"He was a rock if I ever saw one."

"And us? Our family?"

"I can only speak for myself," he said, "But I guess I'm more of a rock. I don't think I could ever be a leaf; I wouldn't even know how to start."

"Why not?"

"Because when the water subsides, where is the leaf? Certainly not where it started; certainly not back at its home."

I nodded my head and looked away. There was a hint of fear in my father's voice, something I wasn't used to hearing.

"Which one is better? I mean… which one do you think is better?"

"Oh, I'm not sure," my father said, looking down at his hands. "They're both brave... in their own way. Don't you think?"

"Oui," I said softly.

We were both quiet for a moment.

Then he stood up, patted me on the shoulder and turned off the radio.

"Let's just hope it doesn't come to that," he said before leaving the room.

I stayed in the sitting room for a while longer, perhaps it was the longest I had simply sat in the sitting room in years. I glanced around the room, at the dark oak bookshelf. It was a family heirloom, one that had been overrun with books since I was a child.

Then I looked at the rickety birch bookshelf next to it. I remembered helping my father build it. I remembered the weight of the hammer in my hand. I remembered my pride at its completion, feeling as though I had helped build something indestructible.

But sitting in that chair, with Cosima's ominous and vague warnings still ringing in my ears, the birch bookshelf seemed almost laughably frail. It leaned heavily to one side, and the shelves sagged beneath the weight of the books.

_Maybe Strasbourg would have to be evacuated,_ my father had said. _But it would only be precautionary._

I stood up and walked to the bookshelf. I read the titles of some of the books there. On the middle shelf were my mother's books: mostly Bibles, cook books and novels. And on the top shelf were my father's books; technical manuals, almanacs, encyclopedias of French grape varieties, books about winemaking and books about farming.

On the lowest shelf were children's books, the ones that Laurent and I hadn't read in years. Their spines were covered in dust, but when I pulled one out - a book of fairy tales - and opened it, the musty smell of the faded pages took me right back to my childhood; took me back to those nights when Laurent and I would curl up on my father's knees and he would read to us, his hair still dusty from the day's work.

_How can we leave?_ I thought. _How can we take all of this with us?_

I didn't like the thought at all. I closed the book, and a puff of dust shot into the air.

_She's wrong,_ I thought. _The French army is the strongest army in the world. We will be fine. _

But even the voice in my head wasn't convinced.

I slipped the book back onto the shelf and went upstairs to my room.

I walked to the window. I looked out toward the barn, which was only a dark shadow in the distance. I thought first about the plane that I knew must be inside the barn. And then, I thought about the confidential package that was hidden inside the plane.

_What could be so dangerous about a package? _I thought.

The question nagged at me well into the late evening.

Even as I got ready for bed, even as I washed my face, even as I pulled on my nightgown and pulled back the covers, the question nagged at me.

I closed my eyes. I thought of other things, but other things had a way of circling back, twisting around, bringing me back once more to that plane, and its mysterious contents.

I sat up.

_If my family is really in danger,_ _then I must find out why._

I got out of bed.

It was no easy task getting downstairs silently in the dark. But once I was at the front door, I found the barn key and the gas lantern where my father always left them.

Once outside, I hurried across the grass under the light of the half moon. I didn't dare turn on the lantern until I had closed the heavy barn door behind me. I stood, with my back against the door. I raised the lantern and turned the dial; turning slowly, slowly, until a small flame danced to life.

The plane loomed large in front of me, its size exaggerated by the stark shadows cast onto the high ceilings. As I stepped around the front of it, the shadows crawled across the ceiling, giving the impression that the plane itself was moving, tracking me as carefully as I was tracking it. I reached a hand out and touched the nose, just to be sure.

I stood still, and the plane stood still, and the entire barn stood still, save for the scurrying of a rodent somewhere in the rafters; save for the symphony of crickets outside. I shivered.

_Best to get this over with and get out of here,_ I thought.

Letting the lantern hang from the crook of my elbow, I grabbed hold of the edge of the open cockpit and pulled myself awkwardly up onto the wing. Once standing, I swung my arm out, arching the lantern over the cockpit, revealing two pilot's seats; at least, I think they were both pilot's seats because they both had a steering wheel of sorts and lots of gauges and dials that I didn't understand.

The cockpit was cramped, even more cramped than I had imagined. If Cosima hadn't told me herself that something was hidden inside the plane, I wouldn't have thought it was possible. Every centimeter of space was filled, save for the small nooks meant for the pilots' feet and legs.

_But she said it was here,_ I thought. _So it must be here. _

I leaned over the front chair, bringing the lantern down. I looked on the cockpit floor, running my hand along the wallse, coming up with nothing but a layer of dirt on my fingertips. But I did notice that the chair, which was made of leather and wood, was little more than a cushion set on a metal box. I knocked on the metal beneath it and heard that it was hollow.

After some fidgeting, I managed to lift the cushion up, revealing a compartment. It was filled with maps, documents, more gauges, a set of goggles, and a pair of gloves.

None of it looked particularly dangerous.

The back seat was harder to get to. I climbed into the front seat and leaned over the back of the chair, the space so narrow that I felt a bit like a canned sardine trying to peer into an adjacent can of sardines.

I tried my best to lift up the bottom seat cushion, but it wouldn't budge. I could see the same metal box beneath it, and I was sure the same compartment was there, but the cushion wouldn't budge, as if it had been bolted in place.

I climbed over the front seat. I grabbed at the back seat cushion with both hands, but it was no use. When that didn't work, I grabbed at the seatback, which also appeared to be a rudimentary cushion set into the back wall of the cockpit. I yanked as hard as I could, expecting it to be equally, if not more firmly rooted to the plane.

I was wrong.

The backrest gave way almost immediately, and I lost my balance, nearly falling backwards over cockpit wall.

The lantern banged against the wall, and for an instant, the flame burned at its brightest.

I stood up straight with the cushion in my hands. It had come loose from the back of the cockpit wall, popping out at the slightest tug, just like pulling an old cork from a half-drunk bottle of wine.

I set the cushion down and turned the dial on the lantern, reducing the flame, but not too much, because there, where the seatback cushion should have been, was a hidden compartment.

I leaned in for a better look.

The compartment was really just a wooden box, set on it's side. It looked as though it had been haphazardly hand-crafted and set into the body of the plane. Wedged inside the compartment was a tan suitcase of sorts.

_So this is what she didn't want Felix to find,_ I thought.

I pulled the suitcase out, and I was surprised to see that it was made of wood.

It wasn't big, but it wasn't small. I opened the top to reveal a strange machine inside; or rather, the suitcase itself was the machine, a typewriter-like contraption that took up the entire interior of the case.

There was a set of black push-button keys, just like a typewriter. And above the keys there was another set of letters, but they weren't buttons; they were flush with the surface of the keyboard. And above that set of letters there were three gears that were inset into the surface of the machine. Just beneath the entire keyboard was a tangle of thick, black wires, like the ones you see in the advertisements for the phone company.

I'd never seen a typewriter like that before.

I pushed on one of the keys. It gave way beneath my finger in a pleasant sort of way and made a cheerful _click!_

Posted on the inside of the lid was a paper covered in German instructions.

I brought the lantern closer as I read the bolded heading.

_Zur beachtung!_

"Please note!" I whispered to myself.

I read the next line.

_Beachte die Gebrauchsanleitung fur die Chiffriermaschine._

"Please note the instructions for the use of the...Chiffriermaschine?" I said. "What is a Chiffriermaschine?"

I repeated the word out loud.

"Chiffriermaschine…"

I said it fast. Then I said it slow. I said it as one word and then I broke it up into two words. I said it with my best German accent, and then with no accent. And then I said it the way I imagined Cosima might say it.

"Chiffrier… maschine... chiffrier... chifer... cifer... ci…"

And then, all at once, I knew what it was and I knew why it was so dangerous.

I stood back, yanking my hands away. The lid slammed shut.

"The Cipher Machine," I said.

_Die Wehrmacht Chiffriermaschine! _I thought. _Of course! It's so simple!_

I felt a knot in my stomach and I couldn't tell if it was from excitement or from fear.

I lifted the lid.

I tried to read the rest of the instructions, but there were too many technical terms that I didn't quite understand.

Just then, I heard footsteps in the gravel outside the barn door.

I slammed the lid shut, tucked the wooden case back into the secret compartment, and fitted the seatback cushion into place, just as the barn door squeaked open.

"Delphine? Is that you?" whispered Laurent.

"Yes," I whispered back.

He stepped into the dimly lit barn. He smiled when he saw me standing in the cockpit.

"What are you doing out here?" I asked, trying to hide the catch in my breath.

He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket. He stuck a cigarette into his mouth and lit up. He took a long drag and then, with a mischief that I recognized - a mischief that meant I wasn't getting out of this situation easily - he smiled.

"I could ask you the same thing."


	10. Chapter 10

I stared down at him. The lantern cast severe shadows on his face, and his smirk appeared almost sinister. I rubbed my fingertips together. They were still gritty with dirt from the floor of the plane. My other hand pulsed beneath the pressure of the bandage.

"I was…"

He exhaled, turning his head to the side, but keeping one eye on me.

I rubbed my fingertips back and forth, trying to think fast. I rubbed them so frantically that a ball of oily debris formed between my thumb and forefinger.

_God, what was on that floor?_ I thought.

"I was...checking for crumbs," I said.

"For crumbs?"

"Yeah, you know, because of the rats."

"The rats?"

"Yeah, because if there are any crumbs in the plane, then, you know, the rats will move right in, and the next thing you know, rat honeymoon, and then two dozen little rat babies running amuck in the engine...or propellor...or the seat cushions."

_Shut up!_ I screamed inside my own mind.

"Or maybe not the seat cushions," I said.

_God! Just shut up!_

"Rat honeymoon, huh?" he said.

"Yeah," I continued, "Felix said the plane was made of wood and canvas; those are two things that rats like."

"They sure are."

He took another long drag of the cigarette. I stood in the cockpit, not quite sure how to segue myself out of the conversation.

"You _do_ realize how ridiculous you sound, right?" he said.

I sighed and lowered the lantern.

"Oh, shut up and help me get down," I said.

With the cigarette snug between his lips, he stepped toward the plane and reached out a hand, grabbing me by the elbow and guiding me down.

"What are you really doing out here?" he mumbled around the cigarette.

"I already told you," I said, straightening my skirt.

"You expect me to believe the rat thing?"

"And why not? The last thing we need is a rodent infestation. I mean, the sooner this plane is fixed and out of here, the better..._for all of us_."

I mumbled that last part under my breath, and even if he did hear me, I don't think he fully understood.

"Uh-oh!" he said. "Trouble in paradise?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

But it was too late; I had already blushed, already turned a shoulder away from him.

"Oh, no?"

"No."

"So you aren't out here in the middle of the night because you want to leave a little love note for a special _mademoiselle_ to find?"

"A love note?!"

I tried to laugh it off, as if it were a crazy idea, but the laugh came out more bitter than bamboozled.

"Don't be stupid!" I said with my back to him.

"Wait a minute," he said, his tone suddenly sincere. "I was just joking."

He reached for my elbow again. I shrugged him off.

"I don't care about your stupid jokes. I'm going inside."

I headed for the barn door, taking the lantern with me.

"Delphine, wait. What's wrong?" he said, following right behind me, tugging gently on my sleeve.

"Nothing," I said. "There's no love note. There was never a love note, okay? Let's just drop it."

"I thought things were going so well! What happened?"

I stood just inside the barn door, speaking to the darkness.

"Laurent, are you asking me what I think you're asking me?"

He didn't answer.

"Are we really talking about this? Right now?"

Still he was quiet.

I wasn't surprised at his silence. Despite all of our trips to Le Chiot, despite all of his intense friendships with men, despite all of my willingness to tag along, love was a topic we had never discussed, not in any serious way.

The crickets chirped outside, as if to say, "We know. We know. We know."

He stubbed out the cigarette with the toe of his boot.

"Sure," he said. "Why not? It's as good a time as any."

"Okay," I said. "You start."

"Look," he said. "I know you like her...Cosima."

_That's not what I meant,_ I thought. _I meant, talk about you!_

"I like a lot of people," I said.

"I know she kissed you, and I know you're mad, and I know that's why you nearly cut off your finger this morning."

Before he could even finish his sentence, I spun around and grabbed him by the shirt.

"Who told you that!?" I shouted.

He laughed, which only enraged me further. I threw my body weight at him, shoving against him with both hands, hurting myself more than I hurt him.

"Relax!" he said.

He reached for my hand.

"This is a new shirt! You're going to ruin it!"

"Then tell me who told you!"

"Felix, of course!" he said, prying at my fingers.

"How does he know? God! Were you guys spying on us?"

"No," he said, and the smirk was gone from his face. "Cosima told him, and he told me, that's all!"

I glared at him, twisting his shirt until the fabric was tight around his chest. He winced, not in physical pain, but in psychological pain.

"You're going to tear it!" he squealed.

Finally, I let him go. He looked down at his shirt, rubbing vigorously at the wrinkled fabric.

_She told him,_ I thought. _She told Felix everything. And now Laurent knows everything. _

"Look," he said. "It's no big deal. A little lover's quarrel. So what? I just thought you guys had made up, that's all."

I felt exposed in that surreal kind of way, like standing naked in front of the entire classroom, like I did sometimes in my dreams. I was embarrassed despite Laurent's nonchalant attitude.

Goosebumps rose on the back of my arms.

_I'm going to kill her!_

"Don't tell mom and dad," I said suddenly.

"Of course not! Do you think I'm crazy?!"

Then he looked at me sideways.

"Wait a minute. Have you?" he asked. "Told mom and dad about me?"

"Non."

The barn was silent again, save for a rodent scurrying in the rafters. Laurent glanced up and let out a laugh. I think he meant it as a truce.

"Guess you were right about the rats," he said.

"Did Felix tell you anything else?"

"Non."

I couldn't decide I if liked that answer or hated it. Either way, my stomach was tight and my jaw was clenched, and I was ready to give him another good shove.

Instead, I turned around and pulled open the barn door.

Laurent spoke up.

"He did say... just that...Cosima hasn't shut up about you since the moment she crashed that plane into Lumiere's field."

I stopped. I didn't look at him but I listened.

"And?"

"And, well, he's sick of hearing about you, if that's what you want to know. And, I don't know, I think she really likes you..."

He took a breath.

"Don't you like her?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"Je ne sais pas," I said and I was out the door, leaving him alone in the dark.

I was already halfway to the house when I remembered the cipher machine hidden in the plane. But I was already gone too long, and if I returned to the barn to check on him, he'd know something was up. I had to just keep walking and hope for the best.

But it was one more sleepless night for me; the worst night of my short life. My mind moved at jagged angles.

_I'm going to kill her! No, I'm going to talk to her! No, I'm going to ignore her! No, I'm going to tell her to get that machine and that plane away from my family!_

Then, according to their own twisted geometry, the thoughts folded back on themselves.

_I'm going to ignore her! And Laurent! But Laurent is my family... And my family is... Is Cosima in danger? Oh, god!_

And my emotions exploded in sudden, unpredictable bursts; sometimes raging at her betrayal, sometimes grieving at my loss, sometimes fearing, sometimes plotting, sometimes laughing at the memory of the day we met, the way she tried to clean off my dress, the way she brushed my arms and chest and stomach with her gloved hands — and then came the yearning.

Oh! The yearning! Inevitably, it would come, and my entire body would burn.

_I'd kill for her to touch me again… to kiss me again. _

These thoughts were my final destination, the one that I arrived at over and over again, until finally, I let the other emotions fall away and let the exhaustion put me to sleep.

But rather than sleep all the next day, I woke with the sun, the same questions still running through my mind. I went about my day in a daze, not paying attention to much because what was there to pay attention to?

Monsieur Lumiere came by the house just after lunch, asking if the American had returned yet with his money.

"We aren't expecting them today," my mother said.

Monsieur Lumiere looked at me.

"You said she'd bring it on Monday. It's Monday. Where is she?"

"How am I supposed to know?" I said. "I'm just the messenger."

My mother pinched the back of my arm.

"Delphine, watch your tone," she grumbled under her breath before turning a smile to Lumiere. "Like I said, we aren't expecting them today, but I'm sure she will bring your payment the next time she's in town. They have to come back for that plane sometime, right?"

"Hmmph," Lumiere grunted before walking away.

My mother turned to me with her hands on her hips.

"I don't know what's gotten into you these days, but whatever it is, you better figure it out, because I don't like your attitude, and I most certainly won't let you be rude to our guests."

"Lumiere is rude," I said. "I was just speaking his language so he could understand me better."

My mother's mouth was a thin line, one that trembled slightly, and her cheeks started to flush red right before my eyes.

"Delphine Marie Cormier you get out of my sight, and don't come back until you have a better attitude."

I dropped the half-washed bowl into the sink, untied my apron and dumped it on the table. I thought for a moment to go to my room, but the idea of laying on my bed and not sleeping was unsavory. I pushed open the front door.

I walked along the road, but not toward Lumiere's house, not toward the small stream, or the small grove of cherry trees, and definitely not toward the barn. No, I walked in the opposite direction, toward Rosheim.

But when I arrived at the outskirts of town, at the place where the cobblestones sprang up from the dirt road, I thought better of it.

_Everyone will have questions,_ I thought. _About the plane, about the pilots. Better not._

I found myself climbing over the rickety wooden fence into the farthest stretches of the Cormier vineyards. I found myself wandering the rows of leafy green vines, idly reaching for the fruit, idly plucking it and tasting it, allowing myself that one simple pleasure. The grapes were perfect, just right for wine making. I wondered if my father knew.

_Of course he knows,_ I thought. _He knows everything about these grapes._

I smiled to myself, nostalgic for the time when I used to think my father knew everything about _everything_, for the time when the vineyards _were_ everything, and beyond them, even Rosheim had seemed like part of the elusive _everything else_.

But I was only a child then; I could not go back to those days even if I had wanted to. It was the way of thinking that I was missing, not an actual time or place; it was a naiveté that was both embarrassing and precious.

I spit the grapes seeds onto the ground, and the red juice landed on my bandaged hand, looking almost indistinguishable from a fresh drop of blood.

_Everything has changed, _I thought. _Only the vineyards are the same._

The thought made me sad, but I couldn't say why. I looked back at the house. If someone had asked me what had changed about the house, about the town, about my family or myself, I wouldn't know where to point. It was a dread, a dull dread; a knowing that _everything else_ in the world was not as benevolent or as far off as it had always appeared.

_And Cosima brought it with her,_ I thought. _She brought that machine with her, right here to our home. Where did she get it from? Why would she bring it here? No, I don't want to know! _

I walked alone between the grapevines, my back to the road, walking as far away from everyone as I could without actually leaving the boundaries of my home. I wanted to be alone, I wanted some answers, but most of all, I wanted the pilots to leave so that everything could go back to the way it was.

But then the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I heard a sound, the distant rumbling of a motor, and I spun around. I stood still and listened. In the distance, I saw the characteristic cloud of dust rising up from the road and spilling over the tops of the grapevines.

_They're back!_

I took off running toward the road, but I was too far away. I waved my hands in the air and shouted, but the motorcycle tore right past.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

The motorcycle had passed so fast that I couldn't be sure, but I thought I saw Cosima in the driver's seat, and I thought I saw a suitcase in the side car. And most shocking of all, I thought I saw Cosima's bare knees and bare elbows — she was wearing a dress.

"She's back!" I shouted to the grapevines, and I ran as fast as I could back toward the house.


	11. Chapter 11

I slowed as I approached the drive, not wanting to appear too eager. But my feet insisted on skipping beneath me, and soon I was at the door.

It had been left open. Everyone was already inside. I heard them laughing and one laugh stood out from the others, the color of it somehow brighter, lighter, more nervous.

I stood in the doorway and, for a moment, no one noticed me.

Cosima stood at the table with her back to me. I had been right; she was in a dress, a beautiful red sundress with little yellow and white flowers on it. The pleated fabric fell just below the knee. Her hair was pulled back and tamed into a _tresse française. _

She set the suitcase on the table and lifted the lid. She ran her fingers over several packages, each wrapped in brown paper and tied with a blue ribbon.

"J'ai apporté des cadeaux," Cosima said. _I brought gifts. _

"Non, non!" my mother said.

"Oh, you didn't have to go and do that," my father said.

"Well, since you won't let me rent the barn..." she said. "It's the least I could do. It's nothing really."

"Where's mine?" Laurent said.

He looked up as he laughed, spotting me in the doorway.

"Oh, there you are," he said. "Look! Cosima brought presents!"

Everyone looked at me; Cosima turning her whole body, an expectant smile already on her face.

"Did she?" I said.

I smiled back, suddenly feeling all the exhaustion of three restless nights. Maybe she noticed because she looked concerned, taking the smallest step toward me, but then hesitating. On weak legs, I moved toward the table, reached for a chair, and sat down.

Cosima turned back toward my mother.

"This is for you Madame Cormier," she said.

My mother opened the package, pulling lightly on the navy blue ribbon. Inside the paper were several yards of red fabric, the same fabric that Cosima was wearing.

"Oh! C'est magnifique!" my mother said with a gasp.

"The shopkeeper assured me it's the latest fashion in Paris."

"Oh! I believe it!" my mother said, running her fingers over the fabric. "I've never...it's just lovely! Merci! Merci beaucoup!"

"Where's mine?" Laurent teased.

Cosima handed him a small black box, the only present not wrapped in paper.

Laurent looked at it suspiciously.

"This looks rather small," he said.

"Just open it," Cosima said.

I couldn't see inside the box, but upon opening it, Laurent's eyes went wide.

"Well? What is it?" my father said. "I know it's not a pearl necklace."

Laurent turned the box toward us. Inside there was a set of gold-plated cufflinks (at least, I think they were gold-plated.) They were each decorated with an ornate "L." The design was simple, clean — elegant.

"Well, won't I look as pretty as a peacock in these?!" Laurent said.

Everyone laughed. My father patted Laurent on the back and then turned toward Cosima, trying to conceal his anticipation.

"Monsieur Cormier," she said, and she pulled out the largest package yet. "I don't know much about wine making...but I asked around, and I was told that this…"

She paused, trying to remember the word.

"...saccharometer… is that right?"

My father's eyes lit up, _a deja vu_ moment, a repeat of Laurent's expression.

"Anyway, it's state of the art, made of hand-blown glass, and I'm told it's the most accurate on the market," Cosima continued.

My father took the package from her hands and set it down on the table, gently, as if he were handling an infant. He pulled off the brown paper to reveal a wooden case. And when he opened the case, he gasped.

Inside, nestled into the blue velvet lining, the glass bulb instruments sparkled like fine crystal.

"Well, will you look at that?" my father said quietly. "Now I don't have to haul grapes up to Lumiere's. That's just wonderful."

"Speaking of Monsieur Lumiere," Cosima said. "I've got something for him as well."

"Oh, thank goodness," Laurent said. "That old crab has been looking for you all day."

I only half-heard Laurent's remark. Instead, I watched Cosima's hands as she reached for the top of the suitcase, closed the lid, and was about to latch it shut. But at the last moment, Laurent stopped her.

"Wait a minute," he said. "What about Delphine's present?"

"Oh, right, of course!" Cosima said. "Of course, I was going to get to that, but it's getting late in the day. I think I should go see Monsieur Lumiere right away!"

"Oh, come on," Laurent said.

I scowled at him, even shook my head, but he didn't stop.

"It will only take a few minutes," he continued.

"Right," Cosima said, and our eyes met. "Of course. Here. It's not much really."

She pulled the last package out and handed it to me. I knew what it was right away. The weight of it, the binding on the spine, the thick cover; it was unmistakable.

"A book?" I said.

She shrugged her shoulder. "Yeah, nothing fancy."

I tore the paper away. The cover was made of a very fine leather, and inlaid into the leather was a full-color illustration of a gentleman and a lady; the lady lounging on a drawing room sofa, and the gentleman standing behind her, both looking debonair. Embossed into the leather was the title, _The Dangerous Liaisons_.

"It's in English," Cosima said. "So you can study...so you can compare them...the English and French versions."

"Oh," I said. "Merci."

I ran my fingertip along the embossing.

_The Dangerous Liaisons...Is this some kind of joke? _I thought. _Or, perhaps, an apology? Or, worse, a warning?_

"Anyway," Cosima said. "I should hurry along to Monsieur Lumiere's. I don't want to interrupt his dinner."

"I'll escort you," Laurent said. "I mean, _we_ will... right, Delphine?"

"Oh, I don't know," I said, clutching the book to my chest. "I'm not feeling so well. Why don't you go ahead."

"Come on," he said. "We might need your help translating."

"Leave her alone," my mother said. "You heard what she said."

"Alright, " Laurent said, offering his elbow to Cosima. "In that case, I'm all yours; though, I doubt I'll be of much use."

Cosima laughed, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. I cringed. I noticed the smug look on my parents' faces. I scowled.

I pushed back from the table and went upstairs before they were even out the front door.

"What's gotten into that girl?" I heard my mother mutter.

"What do you mean?" my father said.

"You can be really dense sometimes, you know that?"

I closed my bedroom door on their conversation and went to the window. I pulled back the curtain and watched the two figures walk down the road, one in a sweat-stained work shirt and the other in a lovely red sundress. Laurent was making jokes the whole way. I could tell because she laughed and laughed.

But soon the road curved around a hill, and they curved with it, disappearing from view.

_He better not say a word about me! _

I sat at my desk, setting the book down and staring at the leather cover. I knew right away that it was expensive. I'd never seen such an expensive looking book in my life. When I lifted the cover, the binding squeaked. The inside was lined with a red velvet, and pressed between the cover and the first page was a gold ribbon placeholder. Even the paper seemed expensive.

I ran my fingers over the words. It was smooth, and the ink was thick; it stood up from the page.

And that's when I noticed it; the title on the cover page was different from the title on the leather.

"_The Well of Loneliness_," I whispered. "By Radclyffe Hall."

I flipped the cover back and forth, checking to make sure I hadn't made a mistake. But there was no mistaking it. The outside cover absolutely did not match the inside cover.

I flipped to the first page of the story, and read.

"_Not very far from Upton-on-Severn — between it, in fact, and the Malvern Hills — stands the county seat of Gordon of Bramley…"_

I could not guess what the story was about, not from the first paragraph, or from the second.

I read on.

It seemed an ordinary story about an ordinary man, Sir Phillip, and his ordinary wife, Anna, and their completely ordinary desire to have a child — a baby boy. But then I got to this part, and I felt a sudden flutter of butterflies in my stomach.

"_He insisted on calling the infant Stephen, nay more, he would have it baptized by that name. 'We've called her Stephen for so long,' he told Anna, 'that I can't really see why we shouldn't go on —'"_

There was something thrilling about a baby girl named Stephen, one that the parents were convinced was a boy, even when she was still in the womb.

I read on and on, the pages passing easily; the time passing easily, too.

As the story of little Stephen progressed, I began to suspect why Cosima had given the book to me, and even more so, why she would have hidden it inside a false cover.

"_At about this time Stephen first became conscious of an urgent necessity to love… with Collins, the housemaid...she was florid, full-lipped and full-bosomed, rather ample indeed for a young girl of twenty, but her eyes were unusually blue and arresting, very pretty inquisitive eyes...Collins looked up and suddenly smiled, then all in a moment Stephen knew that she loved her — a staggering revelation!"_

My body grew hotter and hotter as I read each word. Little Stephen, all of seven years old, was in love with another woman.

I read on, and I hardly noticed the time pass, or the front door open and close, or the footsteps that moved timidly toward my door.

I only closed the book when I heard the _knock, knock, knock!_

"Oui?" I said, jumping up from the desk.

I leaned back, hiding the book from view.

But it was only Cosima. She poked her head into the room.

"Oh! It's you!" I sighed, bringing my hand to my forehead.

"I'm sorry! Did I scare you?" she said, pushing her glasses up her nose.

"Non," I said. "Come in."

My body was still hot from the story; my throat still dry. She stepped into the room, holding her empty suitcase. I felt a pang of fear.

"Are you leaving already?" I asked.

"Oh, this?" she said. "No."

She set it down on the floor and closed the door.

I swallowed hard.

"Actually," she said. "I have a favor to ask you."

"Oh?"

I crossed my arms.

"It's about the package in the plane," she said.

I looked back down at the suitcase. It was remarkably similar in size to the cipher machine I had found.

"I want to take it with me...take it away from here," she said.

She also crossed her arms, and I couldn't help but notice the way the gesture emphasized the neckline of her dress, and the shape of the muscles in her forearms.

"I see," I said.

"But I need your help."

I turned away from her. I was scared, but I couldn't tell what was scaring me the most. Was it the idea of the machine itself, the fact that it implicated her in a covert group of spies — spies engaging in espionage against the Germans, no less? Or, was it the fear that the machine — even more than the plane — was the only thing tying her to Rosheim, and once it was removed…

"I know what it is," I said.

"What?"

"Your package. I know what it is. _Zie Chiffriermaschine… _ I found it last night."

She looked suddenly sick, her mouth falling open, and her shoulders sloping forward.

"You what?"

"Last night. I went to the barn and I found your secret hiding place. It wasn't that hard really. I'm surprised Felix hasn't found it yet."

She sat down on the edge of my bed.

"But don't worry," I continued, my voice harsher than I had wanted. "I didn't tell anybody about it. _I'm_ not the one who can't keep a _secret_."

She was quiet for a moment, looking down at her toes. I heard my heart beating, and I could barely stand her silence. For a moment, I regretted my words. An apology was sitting on the tip of my tongue, but my lips were shut up tight. I breathed through my nostrils and waited for her reply.

"So, you'll help me?" she said, looking up.

"What?"

"If you already know where it is, that's perfect! You can retrieve it tonight! You can put it in this suitcase. I'll say I forgot it and come back for it in the morning."

She stood suddenly, picking up the suitcase and pushing it toward me.

"Fine," I said, arms still crossed. "But on one condition."

"What?"

"I want to come with you."

"Come with me where?"

"When you meet your...contact...or whoever it is you're going to meet in Colmar."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because it's dangerous. Because you don't want to get mixed up in this."

"I don't care," I said. "I want to come with you. I want some answers."

"Answers about what?"

"About you, about all of this, about that machine. Like, how did you get it? I mean, how did a couple of cartographers smuggle a German cipher machine into France in the first place? Where is it from? And, isn't someone looking for it?"

"I don't know!" she shouted.

It was only then that I realized I had been shouting, too.

"Try to keep your voice down, okay?" she said. "I don't know. That's the point. We aren't supposed to know much. That's how we keep each other safe, in case…"

"In case of what?"

"In case of _capture_."

She said the last word like a whisper, but I heard her loud and clear.

"I don't care," I said. "I still want to come with you."

We were at a stand off; me in front of my desk, my arms crossed and my chin high; her holding the suitcase in front of her stomach with both hands.

But then she set the suitcase down. She moved back to my bed, sitting with her elbows on her knees, really leaning into her thoughts.

I stared her down, trying to be firm, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I noticed her weight on my quilt, and the way her body made dents on my mattress. I kept a straight face, but seeing her sitting there, looking up at me, it quickened my pulse.

There was a knock at the door.

"Ladies," Laurent said through the door. "It's nearly time for dinner."

"Okay!" I said. "We'll be right down."

But neither of us moved. Neither of us even breathed until his footsteps had retreated down the staircase.

"Can we talk about this later?" she whispered.

"No," I said. "Promise me now, or no deal."

"Why do you want to throw yourself into this so badly?"

"Oh, no. I'm not the one who threw me into this. You threw me into this. Me and my entire family."

"Not on purpose!"

She stood up.

"It doesn't matter if it was on purpose or not. The fact is, you know things."

"It's not me," she protested.

"Or your father does, or your contact does; it doesn't matter. All that matters is you know people who know things about what's coming… or… what might be coming."

"Yes, and that knowledge is dangerous. The less you know the better. Don't you understand?"

"I understand very clearly. I understand that when you leave, I will be left in the dark again…"

She took a step toward me.

"Delphine…" she said.

"I mean _we_," I stuttered. "_We_, us country people, we will be left in the dark, wondering if, or when, we might be attacked, wondering if we are fools to stay. So, if you're right, if there is a possibility that the Nazis might attack, then I want to know the people who saw it coming, the people who were trying to prevent it. If it comes to war, I want to know who the real fighters are."

Her face was blank, as if she hadn't fully comprehended my meaning. But then her mouth set into a tight-lipped line.

"Okay. If that's what you want."

I exhaled.

_That was a pretty good speech, _I thought.

For a moment, I wondered if I had really meant it.

"We'd better go," I said. "You're staying for dinner aren't you?"

"I wasn't sure if I was invited," she said.

"Of course you're invited. You must be sick of my mother's invitations by now."

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh," I said. "Well, I'd like you to stay… I mean, I'm _asking_ you to stay."


	12. Chapter 12

She did stay.

She stayed through dinner and she stayed after, me standing by the sink, her standing by my side, so close that her elbow brushed against mine.

"Here, let me," she said, taking a washcloth from my hands.

"No, you don't have to," I said.

"You shouldn't get your finger wet."

"D'accord," I said, stepping aside. "I'll dry then."

The dishes banged together noisily, and our arms brushed together silently; skin on skin so quiet that only we could hear it.

I looked at her sometimes, stealing glances of her ear, her neck and the tiny hairs there; collecting these impressions, like a curator collects works of art.

"So," I said, using English, "I started reading my new book."

"Oh?" Cosima said, looking up.

She smiled. I collected that smile greedily.

"And what did you think?" she asked.

"I think...you're right. It's very different from the French version."

"Hmmm..."

"If one didn't know any better, they might think it was a completely different book."

"That's the miracle of language, isn't it?"

"Tell me," I said. "Where did you find such a lovely copy?"

"I brought it with me from London," she said.

"Oh," I said.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure they don't publish it in France - the English version, I mean."

"I see," I said. "Well, it's beautiful. Thank you."

"It's nothing," she said. "How far did you read?"

"Far enough..."

She looked up again, a hint of mischief in her smile. She looked around to see if anyone was listening. Then she leaned in close.

"Look," she said. "The story isn't so good, but I wanted you to have it, because it was written by one of us."

"One of us?"

"Yeah, you know, another _invert_."

"Oh."

"Anyway, I wanted to give it to you in private… I wanted to explain, but… "

"It's fine."

"No, I wanted to say, when you read it... just take it with a grain of salt...just be cautious."

"Cautious?"

"I mean, the story is kind of depressing. Just look at the title — _The Well of Loneliness_ doesn't really suggest a happy ending, does it?"

"No, I guess not."

"Anyway, I just wanted to say, even though the book focuses on a lot of the bad things about our...condition...I think there are a lot good things about it, too."

"Our condition?"

"You know what I mean, our way of..."

She looked down at my chest suddenly. Her eyes went from my chest to my face and then to my forehead and back to my eyes.

"Our way of what?"

She was about to say the word, but then Laurent walked into the kitchen, a bottle of wine in one hand, and several glasses in the other. He leaned his weight against the door frame.

"I hope you're not leaving yet," he said.

"I don't know," Cosima said.

She handed me the last dish.

"In that case, I'll decide for you. You can't leave because I just built a magnificent bonfire out back, and I brought out a bottle of our very best Sylvaner, and it's not going to drink itself."

"Oh, I probably shouldn't drink," she said. "I have to drive the motorcycle."

"Nonsense, just one glass," Laurent said.

He clinked the glasses together.

I could smell the fire he spoke of — the smoky scent of freshly cut alder wafted into the kitchen — and I was overwhelmed with a nostalgic craving; a craving for roasted chestnuts.

"I don't know," Cosima said, taking a step back.

I reached for her hand.

"Stay," I said, surprising both of us.

"What?"

Her expression begged, _Don't you remember the plan?_

But I didn't care about the plan. I didn't care about my promise, or the plane, or the cipher machine. I only cared about holding her hand, keeping her still, keeping her close for a little bit longer.

"Stay," I said again. "Just a little while."

"Okay," she said with a shrug. "Sure."

"Perfect!" Laurent said.

By the time we got outside, the fire was burning clean and high. It cracked and spit and radiated enough heat to keep us several meters back. The sun was still up, but just barely, and the evening winds had kicked up, throwing the bright yellow flames into a rhythm that could not be predicted — a constant _flicker_, _whip_ and _fade_.

"Sit here," Laurent said, pointing to a log.

"Where did this come from?" I asked.

"I made it," he said.

"When?"

"Just now — out in the barn."

Cosima was already sitting. She reached for the glasses in Laurent's arms.

"Oh, merci," he said.

"Where are you going to sit?" I asked.

"Right here," Laurent said.

He pushed the bottle of Sylvaner into my arms, stepped a few meters off, and returned with another, smaller log; a log meant for one.

I looked down at Cosima, at the space next to her on the log meant for two.

_Very clever, Laurent, _I thought.

But he didn't have to try so hard. I was happy to sit next to her; ecstatic, even.

"This is so cozy," Cosima said. "The smell is delicious! It reminds me of the beach."

"The beach?" Laurent said.

"Yeah," she said. "When I was a child, we used to build bonfires on the beach. Isn't it funny how a smell can take you right back… to another place, another time?"

I nodded my head in agreement. I thought about the craving I had felt when I had first noticed the smell of the bonfire. Initially, it had been a craving for chestnuts, roasted sweet potatoes, and apple cider. But now, with Cosima next to me, my craving was quickly transforming, quickly outgrowing well-worn childhood memories, quickly expanding into other realms. I craved sights — her smile in the fire's glow; I craved sounds — her laughter and the smack of her lips against the wine glass; I craved touches — her knee bumping my knee, her elbow bumping my elbow; I craved them all, in tandem, again and again, me leaning over, leaning in, until finally, my hand rested on the log behind her, and my face was very close to her face; so close that our foreheads nearly touched.

I also craved tastes…

I looked at her lips.

"Tell me, Cosima, where's Felix?" Laurent asked.

He had tried to say it casually, holding his glass very close to his chest and leaning back on the other hand, but I heard the catch in his voice.

She turned toward him.

"Felix?"

"Is he in Strasbourg?"

"No," she said. "He had to return to Paris, to find the materials he needs, and also to apologize to his father… on my behalf."

Laurent laughed, but I heard the disappoint in his voice. "I don't envy him."

"No," she said, brushing her hair nervously. "I got him into this mess. I should have gone to apologize myself, but I had some other things to wrap up first."

"Right," Laurent said. "Lumiere."

"Exactly."

Laurent took a long drink of wine and shrugged his shoulders as if Felix's absence were merely an unfortunate sidenote, instead of the main thesis of his underlying melancholy.

_God, he's much better at hiding these things than I am_, I thought. _Or, maybe he's just had more practice._

When he brought his glass down, the smile had returned to his face.

"And now that you've made good on your promise and paid your dues, will you be returning to Paris, too?" he said.

"Well, there are still a few things I have to do, but…"

Cosima turned toward me, glancing at me over her wine glass. Her eyes were dark — not a trace of sunflower hazel in them.

"Oh, there's no rush," Laurent said, picking up the bottle. "Let Felix deal with it, he's a big boy. More wine?"

"Oh, no, I really shouldn't," Cosima said.

She covered the top of her glass with her hand.

"Alright then," Laurent said. "More for me."

_Uh-oh, I know where this is going,_ I thought. _Straight to the bottom of the bottle._

He turned the bottle completely upside down, but only a drop came out. Cosima laughed.

"Oh god!" she said. "Have we really finished all of it?"

"No worries," Laurent said, standing up. "There's more where that came from."

"No, no. I should really go…" Cosima said.

"Nonsense!" Laurent shouted over his shoulder, but he was already halfway to the house.

On another night, I might have tried to stop him, tried to convince him that he'd already had enough, but on that night, well...

Cosima watched him go, her face turned away from me. I stared at her neck, at her shoulder. Maybe it was the wine, or our newfound privacy, but I felt suddenly brave.

I leaned close to her ear.

"Stay," I whispered.

She turned around, startled.

"What?"

She was blushing. It was unmistakable. She looked down at her hands. She rubbed the stem of her wine glass with her thumbs.

"Delphine, I…I have to leave, I mean, I have to go back to Paris — maybe not tomorrow — but soon."

"I don't care," I said.

"I thought…" she said. "I thought you didn't want to… I mean, I don't want anyone to get hurt. I mean, do you? Want to…?"

"Do I want to what?" I said.

Briefly, she touched the tip of her finger to the tip of my chin. She smiled and tilted her head to the side.

"You know…"

I laughed at the feeling, embarrassed but unable to look away.

"Aren't we already doing it? Whatever it is?" I said.

I could see the flames dancing in her eyes, the constant _flicker, whip_ and _fade_.

"Yeah," she said. "I guess so."

"So stay," I whispered again.

She said nothing as she regarded me; she said nothing as her eyes trailed over my face, as she smiled and looked away, as she reached for my hand, slipping her delicate fingers around my mine.

And then, just as we heard Laurent's voice, she leaned over, so fast that I barely had time to understand. She leaned over and she kissed me, right on the shoulder, her lips warm through the sleeve of my dress.

She kissed me and turned away, smiling as Laurent approached.

Laurent rambled, "I couldn't find another Sylvaner in the house; shall we change to the Riesling?"

But I was speechless, my mouth open, my mind only just registering the kiss that had my body burning from the inside out. I squirmed against the log beneath me.

"That's fine," I said. "That's fine."

Not that my response mattered; Laurent was already handing out new glasses.

"I hope Delphine has used her powers of persuasion to convince you," he said.

"Yes, just barely," Cosima said, taking the glass. "Just barely."

As we sat by the fire, Laurent and I chatting about school, and Cosima chatting about her private tutors, a strange thing happened. As the flames in the fire pit dwindled down to embers, the flames in Cosima's eyes seemed to grow. But when I say flames, I mean the feeling more than the reality — a mystery that I still can't quite understand. Maybe it was the wine distorting my perception, or maybe it was the lenses of her glasses distorting the light, but her eyes seemed to grow dark — and then darker still — and her pupils seemed to grow so large and so black that they swallowed all surrounding light; and at the same time, her cheeks and her lips radiated a happy, pinkish glow.

"I must be quite drunk," I said suddenly. "This is not polite."

"Nonsense!" Laurent shouted.

He tried to pour me another glass and I refused.

Luckily, our mother opened the back door and called out.

"Don't you think you've had enough?"

"We're entertaining guests!" Laurent shouted back.

"I'm serious, Laurent. Let's call it a night, soon."

"Yes, mother."

"I mean it, Laurent," she said before closing the door.

Laurent stood up, hiding the bottle behind his log.

"I'll take care of her," he said. "Don't worry."

He ran toward the house, leaving Cosima and I quite alone.

"I think this is our chance to escape," I said, standing up.

"Escape? From who?"

"From Laurent," I said. "He's so disappointed that his beau, Felix, didn't return that he will drink us to death."

"Disappointed?" she said. "He's disappointed? About Felix?"

"Yes," I said. "Can't you tell?"

"He looks fine to me."

"Come on," I said.

I pulled on her hand, but I didn't have to. She followed easily, running behind me, laughing between strides.

"Where are we going?" she shouted.

I led her to the side of the house, the one with the crumbling wall.

"Up on the roof," I said.

"The roof?!" she said, letting go of my hand.

"Yeah."

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

"Laurent and I used to do it all the time."

"Used to?"

"Yes, when we were kids."

"How long ago was that?"

"I don't know, when we were kids."

Cosima looked up at the stone wall. It was uneven, to say the least. Some stones had already fallen away, some stones were cracked and jagged, and the old mortar was invisible, replaced with lines of soft green moss.

"It looks kind of dangerous," she said. "Remember the cherry tree? You could barely get to the second branch."

I did remember the cherry tree — I remembered it very well.

"Nonsense," I said, stealing a line from Laurent's handbook of persuasion.

I reached for a stone, the corner of which had broken away long ago, and I pulled myself up.

"It's pretty easy, actually," I grunted.

In a few moments, I was leaning over the edge of the roof, pushing myself forward on my stomach until I was stable, then I climbed to my knees and stood up.

I stepped to the edge and looked down.

"Come on!" I whispered. "He's going to notice we're gone!"

She smiled with her head tilted back. Then, without a word, she began to scale the wall. Her foot slipped only once, kicking down a storm of dust and moss, but then she steadied herself, moving slowly and steadily up the side of the wall until she was close enough to reach my hand. I pulled her up the rest of the way.

The part of the roof we stood on was made of the same loose stones and slanted at a very shallow angle. It was the roof of the pantry, an addition to the original house. We walked across it until we got to the taller, more steeply angled roof of the original building.

"Come on," I said, climbing up onto the shingled roof.

She looked concerned.

"You'll be fine, I promise," I said. "Besides, the other side has the best view."

"View of what?" she asked.

But when we reached the precipice and looked out, I heard her gasp.

"Oh..."

Standing where we were, on the highest peak of the roof, looking out over the darkened vineyards, we could see the little town of Rosheim, the main avenue lit up, and the windows of the houses, too; lit up like fireflies nestled together against the night. And past Rosheim, stood the Vosges Mountains, dark purple against the blue-black sky. And the sky, with only a sliver of moon, was as dark as Cosima's eyes, and filled with stars.


	13. Chapter 13

Yes, the stars, as far away as they were, seemed to conspire with me, seemed to laugh at my good fortune. I glanced quickly at Cosima. The curls at her temple blew about in the evening winds. She shivered and hugged herself.

_She's so beautiful,_ I thought. _How did I ever get her here — alone — in the dark?_

I felt a chill, too, but an entirely different kind. I leaned my head back and sighed.

_We told you so_, the stars seemed to say. _We told you._

"Are you cold?" she asked.

"Non," I said, hugging myself, "Non."

"On the one day that I don't bring my jacket," she said. "That's the day you decide to climb on the roof in the middle of the night."

I laughed.

"I'm fine, really," I said. "And, do you think I planned this?"

Though it was dark, she smiled. I know she smiled, because her teeth appeared, ghostly white, and in stark contrast to her coal black eyes. In fact, all of the colors of her face and hair had changed, everything was cast in a silver-blue. The only thing that looked the same was her dress, still unmistakably red, though a deeper shade, and the little flowers on it, they glowed like polka dots; I could not stop my eyes from connecting them.

"I think you've been planning this since we were interrupted under the cherry tree."

I scoffed, but she wasn't completely wrong. I think I touched my own face.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said. "How could I have planned anything? How could I even know when I would see you again."

I took a step backward, and my heel slipped on a loose shingle. She reached both hands out, grabbing my forearms, and steadying me. My heart pounded.

"Maybe we should sit," she said.

"Yes," I said.

She helped me sit first, then sat down next to me, her body shielding me from the wind. I pulled my knees up to my chest, not caring about being ladylike, because I was cold and it was dark, and no one could see me anyway. I was pretty sure that even Cosima couldn't see me; that I was as equally pale and hidden in night shadows as she was.

_I wonder if my eyes are as black as hers?_ I thought.

My heart pounded, and with her so close to me, with her skin so warm at my side, it was suddenly hard to look at her.

"Anyway," I said. "I didn't plan anything. How could I have planned any of this? How could I have anticipated any of the events of the last four days? God, has it only been four days?"

"I know what you mean," she said. "Seven days ago, I couldn't even fly a plane."

"You still can't fly a plane," I said.

She laughed.

"Well, the flying part is easy," she conceded. "It's the landing that's still a little touch and go."

"How could I have planned this?" I repeated.

I looked off toward Rosheim, knowing the field was out there, even guessing the approximate location, though I couldn't make out any of the details of the flowers, or the track of dirt she had carved when she had almost run me over. I couldn't see them that night, but for a moment, a flash of memory set fire to my thighs — a memory, only four days old, but already well-etched into my mind — the moment she pulled that helmet off, and then the moment she ran the red handkerchief over her dusty neck.

_Even then,_ I thought. _Even then, how could I know? All the things she would set into motion?_

"Delphine?" she said.

"Hmm?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," I lied.

I bit my lip, thankful for the darkness.

"Come on," she said, and she nudged my ribs with her elbow.

She was so warm! She was so warm and every time she touched me I shivered.

"It's just…"

_I can't stop thinking about that kiss!_ I thought. _Or your trousers! Or the collar of your shirt! Or the line of your neck, or your lips, or your hands, or your cheeks and the way they push up on your glasses when you smile, or how happy you look when you talk about San Francisco!_

"Ehm...it's just, I've never…"

"Me, neither," she said, touching my hand.

Oh, god, I trembled!

"I mean, I've never felt this way before," I said. "About anyone. I didn't know I could feel like this, about anyone."

"Oh," she said quietly, almost relieved.

"Wait a minute, what did you think I meant?"

"Just, um..." she said, and for a moment, I thought she wanted to drop the subject.

But when I looked at her, when I turned my head in her direction, when I realized how close our faces were, when I found myself swallowed by the black orbs of her eyes — I knew that was the last thing she wanted.

She reached a hand up; I felt it more than saw it. She touched my cheek; I smiled and stopped breathing. She leaned forward; I smelled her breath before I tasted her lips.

And what a strange taste it was — something I'd never anticipated — the taste of a stranger's mouth, of a stranger's tongue!

It was sour; it was bitter; it was initially shocking, but the shock gave way to craving, to impulse, and the impulse had a rhythm all it's own, a surging and receding, a pushing and a pulling, not unlike a fire in the wind, _a flicker, whip and fade. _

There was a moment, a brief uncanny feeling that I was no longer myself, no longer _in_ myself, but that I was a few meters off, watching the spectacle with an almost scientific curiosity. I watched my hands; they pulled at her arms, at her neck and hair, at the fabric of her beautiful dress. I watched my mouth; it pushed rather inelegantly against her own. I watched my knees; they leaned toward her, my legs long and unwieldy, somehow managing to entangle with hers, until we were sitting face to face, pushing and pulling like a clumsy rowing team that didn't know which direction to take the boat.

Watching myself, I thought we were a graceless mess of gestures, and I was almost embarrassed for us. But then, the observer was gone, and I was only a bundle of sensations. My only thoughts were a primal scheming, a desperate conniving, trying to find ways to get more parts of her body pressed against more parts of mine.

Perhaps she felt the same, because soon she was pushing me back, her hand not-so-gentle on my shoulder. I did lean back, separating from her for a moment, but reaching my hands up, reaching around her neck. Our heavy pantings filled the space between our mouths. She struggled to position herself above me.

"Wait," she whispered. "Wait."

She sat up, pulling off her sandals and setting them aside. Then her warm hands were at my ankles, and I laughed. She pulled off my sandals, too. I watched, laying on my back with my knees up — dazed, shocked, giddy — as she pulled off her glasses, set them aside and looked down at me. I could see nothing of the features on her face. I could see only the stars behind her. I heard someone laugh, but whether it was her laughing or the stars, I'll never know.

We kissed and touched, and kissed and touched. I closed my eyes, because I couldn't see anyway. I closed my eyes, but I used my hands, placing them on her face; sometimes holding her very still, running my fingertips over her cheeks, over her eyebrows, over the delicate curves of her earlobes; sometimes pulling her against my mouth, kissing so hard that our teeth clattered; then apologizing and kissing all over her cheeks instead.

She laughed, quietly — bubbling like the best champagne. She laughed and kissed my shoulder, pulling the sleeve up, placing her hot lips on my bare skin, sending up thousands of goosebumps; they rippled out in waves until every centimeter of my skin was aroused and waiting for more sensation.

I gasped, and it sounded incredibly loud.

Her hand went to my mouth, and she laughed.

_Hush,_ she whispered. _Hush, hush. _

But her hand on my mouth did nothing to quiet me. I was filled with a perverse desire to bite her, to feel her flesh give way between my teeth. I kissed her hand instead, pushing her palm against my mouth; then I kissed her fingers, one by one.

She did not cry out like I did. No, she did something better.

She bucked her hips against mine, sharply at first, but by the time I kissed her littlest finger, our bodies were moving together, deliberately, easily.

I liked it. Whatever she was doing, I liked it. She pulled her hand away, kissing my mouth again, so slowly, so slowly…

And her hips moved the same way, so slowly against mine…so slowly, drawing breath from my mouth, drawing blood from my heart, drawing electricity from the very air and sending it in volts through my skin, down my spine and straight there, there..._there_.

Until I thought I could bare it no longer, until I thought I should cry, or scream or laugh; until I thought I should fall into hysterics right there beneath her.

And then she did something unthinkable.

She reached down, and she grabbed her own skirt, which was dark red and wrinkled from our striving. She gathered the material in her fist and pulled it up to her waist.

My eyes were open.

The stars were bright.

I saw her bare thigh, silver-blue in the night, and just above it, I saw a flash of white cotton — her undergarments!

I moaned into the palm of her hand as a wave of excitement rushed through me.

But then, she pushed her leg down, pressing it right up against me, right up between my legs, and I felt how warm she was — how soft and warm! — and I squeezed against her, moaning into her palm, over and over again.

She moved over me, her face buried in my neck, and her breath loud in my ear.

I reached down. I touched her bare leg. I squeezed her flesh, and it was _so_ soft, softer than I ever could have imagined.

I opened my eyes again.

The sky was so full of stars, and they all watched me; not winking anymore, but weeping.

_Why are you weeping?_ I tried to ask.

_Because you are so beautiful,_ they said.

And that's when I felt Cosima's fingers on my face, and her kisses on my eyes.

"What's wrong?" she whispered.

I realized then, that it was not the stars that were weeping after all, but me.

"Belle!" was all I could say. "Très belle!"

I embraced her, pulling her down to my chest and pressing my mouth against the crown of her head. Her hair smelled like smoke, and in that moment, that silver-blue moment, I knew I'd never smell another bonfire again, nor look at the wide open, starry sky, without being filled with a great craving for her — and an even greater sadness — because soon she would leave, and she would take all the stars with her.


End file.
